The Weight We Carry
by StarsKeptMarching
Summary: The night of A New Hope, Myka Bering fell asleep under the same roof as HG Wells. When she woke up the next morning, HG was gone. Fiinally cleared as a Warehouse agent, HG returns home after months of being away. While everyone else greets her with open arms, HG begins to wonder if she made one mistake too many in relation to Myka. Then, enter artifact.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hello everyone! To begin with, if any of you know me from other work, please don't think of this story as a sign that I've broken my promises to you. I'm still working on my re-writing of The Truth in False Accusations, as well as the other 5ive Girls fic I promised, which as of now, I'm calling Tick Tock. They're both still in the writing stage, but I have not forgotten about you, I promise. _**

**_In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one. It's a plot line that hit me out of the blue, and, because I've been dealing with some of the worst writer's block of my lifetime, I happily took advantage of that random inspiration. Like I said, it's been a while since I've written anything outside of poetry and a sorry excuse or a play (or at least part of a play), so bear with me on this one._**

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**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13._**

**Author's Note: I'm not completely sure where I'm going with this story, or if I'm particularly fond of what I've written. Like I said before, this is the result of a long overdue burst of inspiration, so I took advantage of that. If you have any constructive criticism, it is greatly appreciated. I hope you guys like it!**

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**Chapter One**

Myka Berring dragged herself down the stairs, focusing all her energy on each step, careful not to let fatigue lead her to an embarrassingly ungrateful landing. In the months prior, her sleeping pattern had become a sporadic, unhealthy mess, even by Warehouse standards, and her caffeine dependency had worsened. The team had learned to expect her to be last to breakfast; the consideration of waiting for her before they began eating had vanished months ago.

When she reached the ground floor, she raised her eyes to discover a B&B devoid of human life, outside of herself. For a moment, panic set in. Then, she noticed the front door, cracked open ever so slightly, and heard the muffled voices of her friends, chattering far too excitedly for the early morning hour.

Slowly, Myka made her way to the door, wondering what had them on the steps. Then, she opened the door, just enough to expose her slender body to the outdoors, her hand frozen on the handle, just like the rest of her body.

Everyone wearing a matching grin, her team scattered themselves on the front steps. Even Artie had a smile on his lips as he watched Claudia retell a story, her arms waving widely. By Artie's side stood Leena, watching with a maternal smirk, like all her kids had come home for the holidays. Steve stood in between Claudia and Pete, a rare relaxed expression on his face, watching Claudia, amused at her exaggerations. Next to Pete, his arm casually draped over her shoulder, as if they had both forgotten it was there, was Helena Georgia Wells, and Myka nearly collapsed.

The first to notice Myka's presence, HG turned slightly, her dark eyes meeting Myka's and dilating. Her entire chest rose as she took a relieved breath, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"Hello, Darling." She purred, her voice sultry and excited. As much as she loved her Warehouse companions, she had been rather impatient for Myka to make her appearance.

Myka let her hand drop from the doorknob, thus letting the door open wider. HG's greeting had caught the attention of the entire team, who were happy to break from Claudia's story to welcome her to the steps.

"Mykes!" Pete cheered, obliviously, "Look who's joined the party!" Pete's arm shook HG, who smiled at his gesture, trying to keep eye contact with the brunette in the doorway.

The Warehouse was filled with inseparable relationships: the fatherly love of Artie for Claudia and Myka (and even Pete, most days); the irrevocable friendship between Myka and Pete, Claudia and Steve, almost sibling-like for the latter; the maternal love for all of them from Leena. Still, there was nothing quite like the relationship between HG and Myka, a friendship that had led to both the saving, and nearly ending of the world. There was something in it which let the relationship survive some of the lowest lows of history. It was like the two women had become a part of each other.

The team was ecstatic to see HG back, but they expected their joy to be dim in comparison to Myka's. It made sense how she hadn't immediately erupted in elation- it took a moment to process that HG really was back –but when the seconds passed in silence, Myka's expression never hinting at any positive emotions- everyone became very confused, slightly afraid, even. It would be downright idiotic to cross either women, but when they were at each other's necks, each strong, independent, stubborn set of eyes was painted with bloodlust.

"Where the have you been?" Myka asked, her voice barely audible.

By now, HG's smile had entirely faltered, and she hesitated.

"You're…upset with me?" she asked, her voice thick with confusion, disappointment, and anxiety.

Myka laughed curtly, which terrified everyone. "You disappeared, Helena. One minute, you were there, the next, you're gone. No one knew where you were, if you were okay, what you were you doing. You just disappeared." Myka explained, her voice stiff, her hands sharp in their movements.

HG took a step forward, her expression panicked. There was nothing sweeter than the sound of Myka's voice saying her full name in admiration, and nothing colder than her saying it with anger. "I was with Mrs. Fredric." she offered.

Myka took a half a step back, not welcoming the shortness of distance between them.

"I-," HG stuttered, a rare action for her. "I would think that you, of all people, would understand the importance of confidentiality in this business!" HG defended. HG was possibly the most stubborn person any of the Warehouse personnel had ever met, so when they recognized her defense being far closer to begging than fighting, no one knew what to do.

When Myka spoke again, her voice was shrill and ice cold.

"I don't know, maybe it's a culture difference." She began, her shoulders shrugging sarcastically. "Maybe it was common practice in the 1890s to leave without a word, but today, it's customary to say _goodbye_, Helena. A goodbye would have been nice; a bit of a warning before you disappeared."

HG's face contorted; her eyes wide with panic, her brows narrowed and lips shrill with confusion. She had no response, no defense. All she wanted was to see her friend smile, feel her lean body hug against her, happy to see her home. This was completely unexpected, and the genius was helpless.

For a moment, Myka watched HG, waiting for her to test her. When she received nothing but a pathetic expression and helpless stuttering, she spun around, glided back into the B&B, and shut the door behind her.

The girl had a way of storming like a bull with the grace of a dancer, and it nearly killed HG.

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_**That's it for now! Thanks for reading! Please, please, please tell me what you think. I'm sure you guys understand how much reviews mean to me. **_

_**-G**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:_ I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**_A/N:_ _Oh my God! I need to start writing fics for popular(ish) shows more often! I've never had this kind of response! Nearly 400 visitors in just one day? That's nearly my entire student population and my school! Thank you SO much for reading, especially to those of you who have reviewed, favorited, followed, etc. It is so incredibly appreciated. I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and please don't forget to tell me what you think!_**

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**_MiDushiNoSushi: Thank you so much for your review. Her disappearance has been pretty upsetting for me too, so I may have helped Myka's reaction ever so slightly here haha._**

**_Jan: Thank you so much for reading!_**

**_MissLaamaa: Thank you! :D_**

**_Nighthawk: Thank's for reading!_**

**_Xenite: Haha thanks for the imput! I definitely agree, and I'd love to skip straight to some TLC, but that'd be a bit too sloppy, even for me. In the meantime, we'll see how stubborn Myka wants to be. Honestly, I don't even know what's going to happen yet._**

**_A shadow in the dark: Thanks! I'm excited to have you reading!  
_**

**_Chitara: Thank you so much! You know, originally, I wrote this as a one shot, then as a three shot, then it turned into an entire story. If there's anything you should know about me, it's that I don't know limits when it comes to writing haha._**

**_Tracy: Welcome to the fandom! It's a great show, and the characters are just brilliant. I've been watching the show since the beginning, but my love for Berring and Wells has only recently gotten to be this strong. I'm so glad you like the show, and I'm even happier you like my story! It really does mean a lot to me! I can't wait either! I basically took the same line of action before I started writing this. I've yet to find a story that included Myka and HG trying to retrieve an artifact, so I combined that lack with my anger at HG's absence, and produced this!_**

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**Chapter Two**

HG stared at the door, which had slammed shut in her face nearly a minute prior. Suddenly, she spun around, meeting her colleagues with wild eyes. "I need to talk to her." She stated, shrugging Pete's arm off her shoulder and stepping toward the door.

"Whoa! Uh uh, bad idea, Dude." Claudia cried, grabbing her arm and stopping her in her tracks. HG spun around with such force that Claudia jumped back a little, her grip loosening for just a second before Pete came to her rescue.

"Cross a woman once and she'll tear you to pieces, cross her twice and she'll kill you." He explained, his nose crinkled in a way that told everyone not to ask about his experiences with angry women.

"B-but she-,"

After a couple years, Warehouse agents had danced with death so many times, they could practically be called lovers. They had their fair share of insanity and terror in a business week, but this was a different kind of fear. HG Wells, literary genius, was stuttering over her words. If anything screamed hopelessness, this was it.

"I think this one's mine, guys." Claudia stated, shrugging past her team, making eye contact with Leena on her way toward the door.

Leena nodded, understanding, and launching into mother mode. "Right, I think Claudia stands the best chance at talking Myka down right now. Artie, why don't you and Steve head over to the Warehouse? I'll send everyone else over when, um, they're ready."

For a moment, everyone held their breath, expecting Artie to shut down the plan and insist that everyone get to work. Claudia quickly slipped through the door, knowing she needed to eliminate the possibility of being sent to the Warehouse before she could get to Myka, Leena right behind her. Artie's answered just as she closed the door behind her. "I think that's the best line of action, at the moment." He answered his voice a little groggy from all that had happened in the five minutes prior.

Steve quickly came to Artie's side, making his way toward the Jaguar.

"Pete," Artie called from behind him, "I expect all of you at the Warehouse within the next hour, understood?"

"You got it, boss." Pete called, tearing his eyes off HG for a second to eye the front door, remembering how Myka had slammed it, wondering if she'd be even remotely calm in an hour.

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Leena immediately made a run for the stairs as Claudia shuffled her way to the living room. There, Myka was pacing in front of the fireplace, her head in her hands, fingers pulling at her long hair.

"Myka?" Claudia asked, seeing more stability in the psych hospital.

Myka looked up, her hands dropping to her side as she stared at her friend, who was peeking out from behind the door frame, waiting for permission to enter. "I'm fine, Claud." She insisted, her voice betraying her words.

Claudia offered a sad smirk. "Liar."

Myka gave Claudia a defiant look, which melted as soon as they hit the girl's dark eyes. Claudia wasn't letting her out of this one, and Myka knew it.

"It's just, who does she think she is?" she asked, her voice rising with every syllable. "She can't saunter in and out of people's lives and expect everyone to greet her with open arms whenever she decides to come home!"

Myka looked at Claudia, her eyes testing her to pick a side. "I know," Claudia agreed, picking the correct choice, letting anger drip into her voice. She had a completely different relationship with HG than Myka, but the Brit's disappearance had affected her too. "It's completely unfair!"

"It is!" Myka agreed, taking a step closer to Claudia. "And she does it over and over again, and I keep thinking next time will be different. Next time, she'll stay. Next time, she won't go out and try to" Myka trailed off, her eyes frantic, "bring another ice age! I just keep putting my faith in her. And she keeps throwing it away. It's just…I'm tired, Claud. I'm fucking tired of it."

Myka Berring was dropping f bombs. Claudia was beginning to think they had two homicidal maniacs on the team.

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Pete looked at HG, forcing mock confidence and tranquility into his voice. "Don't worry about Mykes," he began, "she's always a bit, uh, barbaric before her morning coffee." He stuttered, praying she hadn't heard his adjective of choice. He looked down at HG, who still looked like she had been slapped in the face and punched in the gut, and continued. "It's just, you're important to her, HG. Myka can act tough, she can mock apathy, but that woman gets attached to people. You can't weave in and out of her life and think it won't take a toll on her."

HG looked down and stayed silent for a moment, her voice soft and innocent when she did respond. "I never intended to hurt Agent Berring." She whispered, completely honest.

"I know." Pete said, nodding. "It's okay, just let her cool off."

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"It's like she's…," Claudia struggled to find the right words for a moment, before regaining herself and continuing, "incapable of taking other people's emotions into account!"

"Exactly!" Myka cried, taking a step closer to Claudia. "I don't care where she was. I know that she was with the Regents, I mean, I didn't know that before, but now I do. I-, I get it. But it's beside point!"

"I know!" Claudia cried. She had never been anyone's 'bff' in school, but she figured this was similar to the kind of post-break up experience she was supposed to get her best friends through as teenagers. It was scary, how Myka, always the calm one, always the one who thought things through, had turned into a babbling teenager, too emotional for her own good, but Claudia understood. It wasn't about personality right now, it was about emotions. Claudia found herself wrapped up in it, beginning to feel the anger Myka felt, feeling her own adrenaline run.

"I know she's trying to do the right thing, but she keeps messing it up. It's like she can't do the right thing, like she'll never actually be 'good', she'll always be dangerous. I'm starting to believe that she'll always cut someone else's throat if it means she'll get what she wants."

As soon as Myka tasted the words on her tongue, the anger drained out of her expression and she felt repulsive. They seemed to have a similar effect on Claudia, who had come out from her place in the doorframe since the start of the conversation, and was now standing by the couch, a little shocked.

"Myka," she began, her voice half the volume they had been using, sounding like a whisper. Myka had faith in HG when no one else did. She saw a human being, tortured, maybe, but still human, when everyone else saw a de-bronzed, homicidal maniac. From the beginning, she believed in the Brit, believed in her heart, in the good in her soul. Myka Berring had watched the woman take two steps toward the end of the world, and still found it in herself to believe in her goodness afterward. Whether Myka's faith was inhuman, or the epitome of humanity, Claudia didn't know, but it was more than inspirational, it was practically alive. To denounce that faith, after all it had been through, felt foreign, dangerous. It felt as though Myka's words could shatter everything anyone had ever based their beliefs on.

"No," Myka whispered. "That's not true." She wasn't trying to reassure herself or Claudia, she was stating a fact, sheepishly offering up the truth after having been caught lying, like a child. "She's, she's just…"

Myka trailed off, feeling her eyes well up so suddenly it scared her, and collapsed on the couch, her body like a rag doll.

"Myka," Claudia offered, sitting beside her and putting her hand on her knee, reassuring.

"I couldn't get over this feeling that something was wrong," Myka whispered, not looking up from the ground. She couldn't explain it. She didn't get vibes like Pete. It was worse than a feeling, it felt like knowing.

Claudia stayed quiet, waiting for Myka to say what she needed to say, her grip on her knee tight. She was well aware of the girls' friendship. She had taken note of the difference HG's presence had on Myka, the comfort that came with it. She knew how close they were, but Myka was reminding her of the day she left the Warehouse, and Claudia felt sick.

Myka never straightened her gaze, and when Claudia noticed her shoulders shaking slightly, she jumped. "Oh, god," she cried, "Oh, god. She really tore you apart?"

Myka couldn't keep her lips tight any more, and she gave out, her back hunching as she dropped her neck. Claudia reached out and grabbed the brunette by the shoulders, pulling her onto her lap. Myka didn't have the energy to worry about the consequences, to think about the fact she was on the lap of a girl ten years younger than her, crying into her shoulder. Myka needed to cry, and was tired of holding it back.

Claudia held her close, wrapping her arms around Myka's shaking shoulders, not caring about the puddle that was forming on her own shoulder. "She's back now, Myka. She's okay."

They sat like that for a little while in silence, letting Myka's sobs cry themselves out enough so she could speak. "I know, I just, I felt like something had gone wrong with her. And I wasn't there, or she wasn't here. And I didn't know what was happening. She was just…gone. And I…" Myka stopped, reminding herself to breathe. "It felt like I was never going to see her again."

Claudia just held her for a moment, and Myka tried to remember the words she had spoken, tried to remember if they were even slightly coherent. "God," Claudia breathed, "you really love her."

It wasn't quite a question, and it wasn't quite a statement. Claudia knew that Myka loved HG, they all knew it. She loved HG like she loved Pete, like she loved Claudia, herself. They all loved each other at the Warehouse; it was hard not to get attached to the people you face death with. Even HG had forced herself pass hatred and made a small place for herself at the hearts of the agents. Maybe the friendship wasn't as strong with the rest of them as it was with Myka, but it was there. Still, this realization felt revolutionary to Claudia, even if she had known it all along. She tried to understand why the realization of their friendship felt this way to her, and concluded it was the faith; the realization that Myka still believed in HG, still knew she was capable of so much good. It was beautiful to Claudia, but, as she held her friend, she was that it was also slowly breaking her, tearing her to pieces.

"I'm tired." Myka answered, bitterly, sadly. She couldn't explain it, so she left it at that. She was tired.

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"How long will it take her to 'cool off'?" HG asked. This was irrational. She now understood that she should have said goodbye, but if her absence upset Myka so, her return should bring comfort. Remaining angry would only take away from what Myka seemed to be longing for, what HG no doubt had been. Of all people, Myka was the last she expected to be upset by her return, and she desperately wanted her to come back.

"I don't know." Pete answered, looking back at the closed door. The expression her face had morphed into when she slammed it was something he had never seen in his partner. After a moment, he shrugged. "We'll just pray Leena or Claud gets her some coffee and we'll see where that takes us."

Pete watched HG, her eyes still anxious, but also defeated. It was a rare sight, but it was comforting to see that HG wasn't going to try to challenge Myka's emotional state. It seemed like even she knew better than to try that.

"Come on, Agent Wells," he said, pulling at her arm and leading her to the SUV. "You don't want to be too late for your first day back at work."

HG let him drag her along, just a step behind as she watched the ground, her voice tight. "Righty-ho then."

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**_Thanks for reading! Please, please, please review. I'm pretty sure you don't even need to have an account to review. It means so much to me, and always motivates me to update quickly, which is important if your an impatient reader. My classes have already started for the year, and I'm already facing a few hours of homework every night... and it's only the first couple of days. Between schoolwork, the meetings that scatter my schedule for the next month, and some other person things, my life is more than a little hectic right now, and, unfortunately, this isn't exactly my number one priority. If my phone keeps ringing to tell me that you guys are reviewing, it'll definitely improve the chances of more speedy updates._**

**_-G_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse_**_ **13.**_

_**A/N: I'm SO sorry it took me so long to update. I ended up having to take an unexpected trip to a house in the middle of the New Hampshire woods without any internet access, which is far too far-fetched of an excuse for it to be anything but true. Believe me, not that I'd lie to you guys, but I like to think I'm a little more clever than that. Anyways, I really hope you guys are still interested in reading what I have. You guys have been absolutely amazing with the reviews, and it's a completely new experience for me to have this kind of feedback. I'm so grateful for it, and I'll do my best to be more dedicated to timely updating. Hopefully my life will smooth itself out for a little while. I'm not particularly happy with this chapter - it was a little rushed. But it is something for you guys, so I hope you like it. Also, special thanks to the guest who pointed out my spelling mistake with Bering. I have a friend named Kris Berring (with 2 Rs) so I guess it was habitual. I'll do my best to keep an eye on that, thank you so much!**_

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_**I've never gotten so many reviews, so I'm not completely sure how to go about this. It's still important to me to acknowledge the people that take the time to review my work, but I don't want to fill this chapter with responses. So, I think I'm going to PM any non-guest reviewer (I can't review guests, but I am so thankful for your reviews!), rather than post my responses here. If you'd like me to go about this another way, or have any preference at all, please include it in your review! **_

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**Chapter Three**

"Artie, do you really think now is the best time to pair Myka with HG?"

Artie sent Pete a look that could kill; his voice threatening and authoritative.

"What I think Pete, is that Myka will recognize that retrieving an artifact is top priority."

Pete hesitated, knowing he shouldn't fight Artie, but also knowing this was one of the worst ideas he'd ever come up with. "Right, of course it is. But, I mean, if the sight of her pushed Myka that far off the edge, do you think _living_ with her will put her into the best artifact-retrieving state of mind? What if, what if Mykes and I go?"

"Pete," Artie growled, not welcoming his insistence, "we are sending Myka and HG in undercover. We want as little attention on us as possible. You and Myka would stick out like a sore thumb there."

"Where are Pete and I going?"

Everybody in the Warehouse froze at the sound of Myka's voice. With Claudia's help, she had cleaned herself up considerably, and no one would know she had been sobbing twenty minutes prior. She entered the Warehouse with an expression of apathy plastered on her face, prepared to act as though nothing had happened. Walking in just in time to hear her name, Myka kept her eyes straight, refusing to look at HG, who looked like she hadn't spoken since she left Leena's.

Slowly, then all at once, four sets of us swung around, landing on Myka, who didn't flinch. Artie grabbed a manila folder and handed it to Myka, who opened it quickly, ignoring the attention she was getting.

"You are going," Artie answered, his voice still gruff, but less authoritative, "but Pete is not."

"New York?" Myka asked, her eyes darting across the papers.

"Greenwich Village, to be exact." Artie answered, watching her carefully.

Myka nodded, flipping through the folder. "Girls are dying, their- oh, god."

Myka cringed at the x-rays she saw. Shoulders of young women were completely, crushed, ribs broken, apparently piercing their lungs and heart. She looked up to see Artie sending Pete a warning look, hoping Myka wouldn't notice, but, of course, she did.

"Artie, am I going alone?" she asked. It wasn't that she was incapable of retrieving an artifact without Pete's help; it would just be more effective to have two people on the job. Also, Artie had never sent Myka out alone. The fact that he had chosen now, of all times, especially when she seemed to fit the victims' descriptions, was suspicious.

"Er, no." Artie answered, his eyes looking away, despite himself. Myka's eyes circled the room, falling on the one spot she had refused to look at since she entered the Warehouse. HG sat on the desk, next to the computer, her long fingers gripping a manila folder, her gaze apologetic and anxious, biting her lip.

"Artie," Myka began, her eyes frozen on HG, blazing with something that unnerved him.

"You and Agent Wells will be going undercover." Artie stated, as if that were explanation enough.

"Couldn't Pete and I, or Claudia or Steve be just as effective as, as her?"

"The link between the victims is that they all live in the same apartment building." Artie added.

"And?" Myka asked, her voice threatening, panicked.

For a moment, something between a second and an eternity, the room was absolutely silent. As quickly as everyone was to stare at Myka, they were to avoid her glance.

"And the apartment is in a primarily gay community, Darling." HG answered, sure that no one else would give Myka the answer she was looking for.

Myka stopped, not prepared to hear the sound of her voice, and certainly not prepared to take in that answer. For a moment, she was silent, and it seemed as though the entire room held its breath as she decided on her next sentence. Finally, Myka spoke.

"Is this Pete's idea?"

It was almost a joke, but not quite, and everyone inhaled.

"No," Artie answered, a bit more confidence in his voice than before. "Claudia has been sentenced to another month in inventory since she tried to tamper with my car radio, Steve is taking a week off to visit family, and Pete would bring too much attention to the investigation if he was paired with you. Now I trust that you can settle your differences long enough to retrieve an artifact, which is, by the way, your _job_."

Claudia sent Myka a nervous glance. The others hadn't been with her at the B&B, but Claudia had. She wasn't entirely sure Myka _could_ settle their differences for the sake of the Warehouse.

Myka sighed, wondering the same thing as Claudia, but knowing better than to voice it. "Of course," she said, her words more venomous than she intended.

"Great!" Artie said, hoping to get the women out of South Dakota before one of them could change her mind. "As you may have noticed, your plane leaves at 2:00 this afternoon."

Myka's jaw clenched as she turned around, starting her way back to the Bed & Breakfast without waiting for HG, who quickly jumped off the desk, following behind Myka.

Myka left without another word as HG looked back at her colleagues. She looked terrified.

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**_Alrighty, you have a chapter. It's not much, but exposition is important, as much as I hate it. I'll get you guys something else as soon as I can. We'll see how dedicated I am to the three quizzes I have tomorrow...we'll see if I can convince myself to work on something more for you tonight :)._**

**_PLEASE review. I appreciate it so much. You guys are amazing and I love you all. Also, shout out to the people from Slovenia and Guernsey. I can't even tell you how cool it is to have people reading something I wrote from places I've never even heard of. _**

**_-G_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**A/N_: God, I am not doing well with you guys, am I? I'm so sorry about the wait! Life got in my way again, but I've been doing what I can in the free moments I get. Plus, tests are already rolling in, so studying hasn't been particularly kind to the writer in me. Either way, know I'm not forgetting about you, and know that I'm still so thankful for every one of you reading this. I hope you like this chapter, I'll try to update soon!_**

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**Chapter Four**

Myka made a point of getting them to the airport with enough time to catch their flight, but with minimum weight. She didn't want to sit around thinking about HG any more than HG did, but still, the minutes that had given themselves felt like an eternity as they ticked by, and Myka rigid body radiated a guilt meant to instill itself in HG.

Finally, their flight number was called and both women jumped to their feet, transitioning from absolute stillness to movement so quickly it almost hurt. They both knew they were on their way a silent three hour violation of personal space, but they were quick to get there. In their situation, the current moment would always be the worst possible.

Normally, HG would offer to help with Myka's bag, despite the fact they both knew Pete would take both girls' bag, singlehandedly sustaining the life of chivalry. Myka would give HG the outside seat, Pete taking a step back in the chivalry movement and claiming the window seat for himself. It was a familiar series of kind gestures neither woman ever mentioned, but both had fallen into with a sense of comfort and belonging. Now, HG's cautious offer to help was stubbornly denied, and Myka threw her bag overhead, knowing HG would have to adjust it to fit her own bag in, and took the window seat without a word.

"Can I help you with that?"

HG had dropped her own bag at her feet and began to move Myka's suitcase out of the way when a man, a few inches taller than Pete, snuck up behind her. She turned around to see his blue eyes watching her, light brown hair whisking at his forehead, a light fuzz on his cheek and chin. She hadn't been trying nearly long enough for him to call it struggling, and she was perfectly capable of putting her bag away, thank you very much. She politely denied the offer, rolling her eyes, and gently putting her bag away before taking the middle seat.

"I'm Stan." The man introduced, flashing a bright grin and offering his hand as he took the end seat. The man was relatively attractive, his voice deep, maybe a little louder than necessary. He was a little heavier than Pete, maybe by twenty pounds, but it didn't hurt his appearance. He wasn't gorgeous, but he wasn't repulsive by any means.

HG and Myka strapped on their seatbelts, doing as the stewardess told, before smiling at the man. Myka's was clearly forced, but HG was a natural flirt, even when she didn't intend to be, and there was only a slight edge to hers. "Helena," she greeted, shaking the man's hand, "and this is…" Hg stopped, quickly glancing at Myka. She wasn't sure If she'd prefer to be introduced or to introduce herself, but when Myka didn't say anything, she took it upon herself to do the honor, knowing either way, she'd be making the wrong decision. "this is Myka." HG finished, smiling at the brunette, which was less genuine then her first smile. There was something about the way they looked at each other, -about the sadness in HG's eyes- that caught Stan's attention. He was sure he understood.

Myka stared out the window, watching as the plane picked an elevation to keep as a constant, at least temporarily, and stopped its steady rising above the clouds. She had always loved the view from above. It was kind of like snorkeling for the first time; all of a sudden, you realize there's an entire world that doesn't touch the ground. It was foreign and beautiful, and it felt peaceful, unadulterated. Myka inhaled, feeling for the first time that she'd make it through the next couple of hours.

"So where are you from?" Stan asked, watching HG carefully.

"Well, I was raised in England." HG answered, smiling friendly.

"Oh, really?!" Stan asked, his eyes widening like he hadn't come to that conclusion as soon as he heard her speak. "That's so cool!"

Myka sighed. IF she had to spend the next three hours listening to some idiot fall in love with HG, she might have to shoot something.

"What brought you to North Dakota?" he asked, his voice scrunching at the sound of the state's name.

"Oh," HG began, her voice faltering slightly as she thought of a good answer. Stan didn't notice; no one would but Myka.

"Work, originally." HG answered, slowly. "My company moved countries, and I moved with it."

"Really?" Stan asked, "You must really love your job."

Myka rolled her eyes as she thought about the actual reason HG had travelled with the Warehouse, finding sanctuary in her iPod as HG responded.

"It certainly has its benefits." HG smiled, crossing her leg over her knee.

"They continued like that for over an hour, Myka successfully drowning them out with her music. Finally, after the stewardess came by with drinks for the second time, Myka took her headphones out.

"Hey, Babe?" she asked, reaching over and placing a hand on HG's knee. "I was thinking, do you think the landlord would let us paint the bedroom? I just…I know I wasn't as fond of the apartment at first, but, now that we're definitely moving in, I think I could get used to it if we made it our own, you know?"

Myka immediately regretted the physical contact, but it was too late now. For a moment, HG just stared at her, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. She was taken completely off guard by the fact that Myka was even talking to her, and her eyes kept dropping to the hand on her knee, clearly distracted. Myka was thankful that, with her back turned to him, he couldn't see HG's expression, and when she looked over HG's shoulder, she smirked slightly. His face was combatting between shock and utter disappointment, and for a millisecond, this was worth it. She didn't know why, but Myka really hated this guy.

Suddenly, HG understood, and played along, the surprise vanishing from her eyes and a genuine smile appearing on her lips. Even if she was playing a part, HG was ecstatic to have Myka acknowledge her presence without screaming.

"Well, we can certainly inquire about it when we see him today." She answered. "I don't see why not, and we are a rather persuasive pair." Slowly, HG's voice dropped from sensibility to sensuality, and Myka gritted her teeth, quickly taking her hand back. If she didn't know better, she would blame HG's charm on an artifact. Persuasive is certainly one way to put it.

Nevertheless, Myka chuckled as if she was sharing an inside joke, a memory with HG that Stan was unaware of. "You could say that," she teased, her words dripping with suggestiveness that suggested nothing. She had a part to play, and she intended on playing it well, no matter how bitterly she wanted to speak.

HG's eyes flashed and Myka couldn't help but notice a hint of hope in them, and she felt sick. "Well, Darling, we'll certainly see what we can do about the bedroom. I do agree that a lighter color could open it up."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Myka smiled, her nose crinkling, before tearing her eyes away from HG and tapping her knee affectionately, pulling it back onto her own lap.

Myka returned her gaze to the window, and felt HG's eyes burning holes in her shirt for a few seconds longer. It didn't take long for Stan to proclaim his exhaustion, shutting his eyes in defeat. Before they knew it, loud snores were sounding from the man at the end of their row and Myka shook her head. Of course he snores.

After allowing Stan's sleep apnea to serenade them for nearly ten minutes, HG leaned closer to Myka and whispered in her ear.

"Myka," she breathed, her voice hesitant, "do you want to talk about it?"

Myka let a second pass in silence before turning to look at HG, her face blank.

"About what?" she asked, knowing full well what HG meant, "How you nearly blew our cover by flirting with that guy?"

HG's eyes flashed defiantly. "I was not flirting with him!"

"Oh, _please_!" Myka sighed, "He was practically drooling over you. I'm surprised you don't have a puddle on your lap."

"How am I to blame for what a man finds attractive?" HG asked, her voice shrill, but respectfully quiet.

"With all those little smiles you kept flashing him? Please."

"I was merely being friendly!"

"Yeah" Well, try to be less 'friendly' with other people when we're about to move in together, _Sweetheart_."

"Try to refrain from being so jealous, _Babe_." HG shot back, the 'babe' sounding effectively repulsive on her Victorian lips. "You know you're the only one I'll ever love."

Myka shook her head, her lips pursed with such distaste they were almost snarled. "You're unbelievable."

HG laughed shortly, her eyes cold. "Oh, so I've heard." She whispered her words seductive as they left her lips, just a little closer to Myka's neck then necessary.

Myka jerked away and HG backed away, knowing better than to completely lose her temper on a plane. She stared at the brunette for a moment before letting her back crash against her chair, her head rolling back. This was not going well at all, and HG had no control of it.

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_**Thanks for reading! Please review! It would mean the world to me!**_

_**-G **_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**__A/N_: What happens when I feel guilty about not updating in a million years? I ignore my responsibilities for a little while and write you guys two chapters. Both Chapter 4 and 5 were a little rushed, so I'm sure they're far from literary masterpieces, but I wanted to give you guys something. I hope you like them, and I hope you can forgive me for being a terrible updater._**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Completely forgetting about the concept of personal space for the time being, Artie, Claudia and Pete crammed together, practically sitting on each other's laps as they tried to make their way into the frame of the Farnsworth. All three had passed the time pretending not to be nervous wrecks since HG and Myka left for New York. They wandered around the Warehouse, even lowering themselves to Inventory work, hoping it would be enough of a distraction, but everyone's minds seemed to wander to the girls. It was a combination of desperate hope that they had settled their differences and returned to their seemingly irrevocable friendship and horrifying fear that one had already killed the other. Still, they all pretended like they weren't worried, only occasionally reassuring the others that the girls were fine, oblivious to the random timing of their comments. Everyone was waiting for the reassurance anyway, so they always felt prompted.

When Myka finally called in, everyone sprinted to Artie's side to see her. Even Myka knew the others were worried about she and HG, and she figured they would be waiting for her to check in, to assure them that neither woman had killed the other just yet. Still, she didn't bother to hide the frustration HG so effortlessly instilled in her, and the agents all felt their stomachs sink.

"So, Mykes, how's the Big Apple?" Pete asked, forcing a casual cheerfulness into his voice as she glared over her shoulder at HG, who was grumbling about something.

Myka returned her gaze to the Farnsworth, taking a moment to let her eyes cool off. "It's um, well," Myka paused, composing herself. Pete hadn't done anything, nor had Artie or Claudia. Let HG drown herself in the map while she talked to her friends; she didn't have to be bitter to everyone. "It's beautiful, Pete." She answered, looking up from the Farnsworth to admire her surroundings. "Greenwich Village is part of the Historic District, so they have to preserve all the original aesthetics. The architecture is absolutely incredible. It's-," Myka looked up, stopping mid-sentence. "-1831 this one was built. God, look at this." She sighed, giving her friends a fuzzy view of Greenwich Village through the Farnsworth. Myka tried to give them enough time to get a look without looking suspicious herself, and was thankful for the fact that New Yorkers seemed to spend as little attention as possible to the people around them. Suddenly, she was back in the frame, closer to the Farnsworth this time, her face taking up most of their view. "This place was home to the greats!" she practically squealed, letting herself be outwardly excited about her surroundings for the first time since their arrival, "E.E. Cummings, Edgar Allen Poe, Allen Ginsberg, Mark Twain, O Henry… and that's just the literature! This place is incredible! And there are so many bookstores!" she glowed, her eyes darting around at what everyone back at the Warehouse knew were little shops consumed by bookshelves. "There are musicians on every street corner and flyers for poetry readings and art galleries. It's amazing, Pete. You'd love it."

Pete laughed, happy to see his partner at least a little happy. It felt like the most hopeful sight he'd ever seen. "I don't know, Mykes. I'm' thinking this is more your kind of place. D-Do you think you'd be able to sneak home a cheesecake or something? Or maybe a slice of pizza? Hell, I'll take a hotdog from one of those hotdog cart guys. Those guys know what they're doing, let me tell you."

"Pete!" Artie growled interrupting his food fantasy.

"Sorry." Pete mumbled, still giving Myka a look that she could tell even through the Farnsworth was a silent plea.

"I'll see what I can do." Myka laughed, knowing she would not be bringing him home any food. She sent Artie an incredulous look, as if joining him in his silent ranting about Pete's antics, and sent Pete a small smirk, something between amusement and sympathy.

Everyone at the Warehouse stiffened at the sound of HG's voice. "Honestly," she started, loud enough for them to hear her, even if that wasn't her intention. "Was there a single American engineers or architect that possessed even the slightest amount of intelligence?" she muttered.

The agents watched as Myka's eyes tore away from them, not looking at HG, but straight ahead, obviously reminding herself to breathe. If working with Pete was like babysitting, working with HG was like being the substitute that got stuck with the kids that misbehaved at a field trip. She had never yearned for Pete's antics so badly in her life.

"It's a city, HG," she answered, ignoring the fact that HG's question was completely rhetorical. "The grid design can't be _that_ different from London."

HG let out an incredulous laugh, quick, loud and harsh, and the agents cringed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Darling, but I seem to remember that the majority of your stay in London was spent hanging out indoors."

Myka scoffed at the pun, an awfully modern thing to escape the lips of a Victorian lady, and remembered the first time she had met the writer/inventor, how she had betrayed Pete's trust and tricked them into falling into a trap. Or, more accurately, flying up to one.

"Oh, frak." Claudia muttered, knowing an already pissed-off, overly emotional Myka would not take to that kindly. She remembered when Myka and Pete told her about that situation HG had just referred to, shortly after it first happened, and knew nothing good was becoming of this conversation.

"You are unbelievable!" Myka hissed, her had shaking disgustedly.

Back at the Warehouse, everyone could hear the smile in HG's voice as she responded, her body suddenly making its way into the frame, just barely. "You have _no_ idea." She purred, close enough for Myka to feel her breath on her neck before she retreated back her spot on the sidewalk, keeping just over a yard away from Myka as they walked.

Myka's jaw set and she stared straight ahead for a while, her friends holding their breath as they watched. She wondered how many times that joke would be told, and how long it would take for it to be less infuriating.

"Artie, I have to go." She said, finally returning her faze to them.

And with that, their picture fuzzed out, leaving them staring at the blank screen of Artie's Farnsworth, still awkwardly close to one another.

After a few moments, they slowly backed away from one another.h

"Yeah, Artie, this was a _great_ idea." Pete muttered, opening the door and making his decent into the Warehouse, debating whether a futile attempt at distraction via work would be more effective than the Pete Cave, knowing Claudia was right behind him.

HG may know Kempo, but Pete had his money on Myka this time.

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**Hope you guys liked it! Please review. It may not seem like it, but the chances of me being motivated to write something for you guys really is a lot higher with reviews. Let me know what you think! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you want to see, what you don't want to see. Or, if you're in a hurry, just let me know you want to see more. It's so appreciated!** **_Thanks guys! Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but my prayers go out to anyone affected by the hurricane. I hope you're all safe and okay._**

**_-G_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**__A/N: _ I'm not getting any better at this, am I? I'm really, really terrible at exposition, so this chapter's been re-written a few thousand times, which is key factor in why it's taken so long for me to update. Now that life's finally seemed to calm down a little bit, I've finally finished my final draft of Chapter Six. I hope you guys like it, or at least don't hate it. _**

**Chapter Six**

HG sighed and pouted at the door, her arm hanging a few inches away from her body. Myka's grip on her bicep was tight and she held on for just a moment longer than necessary, a silent act of triumph.

"Had you been a little more patient, I would have found this on my own." HG muttered.

Myka released her grip on HG's arm and smirked, rolling her eyes. "Of course you would of," she agreed sarcastically, shoving her phone back in her pocket. Myka had allowed HG to waste an hour and a half of her time before she lost her patience. Allowing a woman over 150 years old to use an obscenely outdated source to navigate herself around a city she hasn't stepped foot in since the nineteenth century was as practical as it sounded, but Myka had allowed it to dance its way into reality. Myka found herself needing to be angry, and her approach to the situation was to allow HG to infuriate her. Anger could be dealt with. Anger could be motivating. Anger didn't need to be explained. Pain did. Pain was messy; pain was full of loose ends. Pain was bloodshot and wet and Myka didn't have time to let it blur her vision. There were girls were dying. She was conducting a masochistic procedure and begging herself to believe her own lie, but Myka Bering was smart. Myka Berring was far too clever for her own good, and she couldn't lie to herself. In the back of her mind, something was screaming at her, and the truth felt like dying.

HG shrugged off Myka's sarcasm and stared at the building. A small row house looking remarkably commonplace in the neighborhood to the average passerby, its presence created a knot in the stomachs of both women, though neither acknowledged it. Architecturally speaking, it looked a lot like the other nineteenth century row houses that lined the Village, but it, like the rest of the buildings here, had its own spirit. For a reason neither woman could place, this particular building seemed awe-inspiring.

"Are you ready?" HG asked, something sounding an awful lot like trepidation in her voice.

Myka sighed. No. No, she was not ready to tangle herself around HG, claiming to be her loving girlfriend, and excitedly crawl into their new apartment. Their first apartment! She was about to take a huge step in a nonexistent relationship, and the concept nauseated her. She couldn't hide behind anger now. She had to hide pain behind love, and that felt an awful lot like it did to miss someone. And missing someone felt an awful lot like pain. No, she was not ready. She wasn't even close to ready.

"Yup," Myka answered, her eyes staring straight ahead, her body frozen in place despite her words. HG was as still as Myka, clearly waiting for her to make the first move in a very un-HG fashion.

"Come on," Myka breathed, reaching out and grabbing HG's hand before she could process her own movements, feeling lightheaded. It was a simple three steps, and the journey up them took no more than a second or two, but Myka wasn't entirely sure she would make it. And when HG reached around her and opened the door before Myka could, she was sure she would collapse. HG's earnest attempt at chivalry felt so forced, so unnatural, and, for half a second, their bodies were as close as they could be without actually touching. Myka's wide eyes looked terrified and when HG caught a glimpse of them, she lost any stubbornness she had in regard to Myka's anger. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more to free her from whatever internal warfare she was witnessing, and her body went stiff with helplessness. Miraculously, the two bodies dragged themselves inside the apartment building, feeling lifeless and afraid.

Behind the front desk, a man in his early fifties looked up and smiled. Putting down the book he'd been reading, he slid around his desk and greeted the girls.

"You must be Myka and Helena?" he asked, some of the kindest eyes either woman had ever seen gazing at them.

"We are." HG stuttered, slowly letting his eyes ease her into a smile. "You must be Mr. Backhart?"

"Jerry," he smiled, shaking Helena's hand, then Myka's. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"The pleasure is ours." HG grinned politely.

Jerry's nose crinkled, completely charmed by HG. "So we've got you ladies up in #4 on second floor, yeah?"

HG nodded and quickly glanced at Myka, falling into sync with her cover and looking excited. Their proximity was intoxicating, but had opposing reactions on the two women. While it made it easier for HG to play her part, Myka wanted nothing more than to run.

"That sounds right," Myka coughed, her lips curling into an anxious smile.

"You know, it's funny." Jerry began, reaching back and grabbing the work book from his desk, "Normally people want to check the apartments out for themselves before they move in, and I've been trying to sell #8 for ages, but you ladies were the easiest sell I think I've made in twenty years."

"We really couldn't afford to make multiple trips to the city before moving. This seemed to be exactly what we were looking for, so we took it before we lost it." Myka explained, her words sounding hushed and unnatural to her ears.

Jerry nodded and Myka smirked at him politely, praying he was as oblivious as he seemed.

"So you're not from around here then?" Jerry asked politely, jotting something down in his book.

"What makes you think that?" HG asked jokingly, putting emphasis on her already obvious accent.

Jerry laughed light heartedly, dimples creasing into his grizzly cheeks and smile lines accenting his bright grey eyes. "That's English, yeah? You're not coming all the way from England, are you?"

Both women laughed and shook their head. "No, no," HG answered, her fingers leaving Myka's hand and casually sliding their way across the small of her back, finding a home at her hip. "We met in England, years ago."

Myka shuddered slightly, and HG couldn't tell if it was because of her hand at her back or from a memory. It wasn't like there was a shortage of memories that could make Myka shudder.

Jerry was watching Myka, something more than polite interest in his eyes and Myka gave in, forcing herself out of her own mind. "She followed me back to South Dakota, though." Myka said, shooting HG a look.

Jerry chuckled incredulously. "That's a pretty big commitment." He laughed.

HG laughed lightheartedly, as if she had heard this reaction a thousand times before. "It doesn't take much for me to know what I want." She smiled.

_Maybe that's why it changes so often_, Myka thought bitterly, her admiring smile faltering for a second.

"And now you're following her to New York City?" Jerry asked, intrigued by their love story.

"I'm following her this time." Myka interjected. "It was pretty clear she missed the city; she spent as much time as she could finding excuses to get out of our small town in South Dakota. " Myka smiled, nudging the woman at her side, feeling her tense at her words.

"Jerry laughed, eyeing the two. "When you girls go, you go big, huh?"

Myka smiled politely and HG chuckled. "You could say that," she nodded, her bright eyes glowing just a little lighter than before.

Jerry smiled. "You know, you ladies remind me a lot of my wife and I when we were young."

Both Myka and HG tensed, HG a little more casual in the suspicious glance they were both giving him. "Is that so?" she laughed, her hand running up and down Myka side.

"It is," Jerry grinned, his eyes glazing over. "That 'seize the day' attitude? And just the way you look at each other..."

Jerry quieted, his eyes narrowed as he remembered, lips frozen in small smile. "Yeah," he continued, breaking his own silence, "you remind me a lot of my Clara and I. And we've been married over thirty years."

HG turned to look at Myka, who forced her eyes to meet HG's. "Thirty years," HG breathed, suddenly seeming even closer than she actually was. Myka saw the thoughtful smirk on her lips, and tried to match it, but couldn't. For the first time in a very long time, Myka was consumed by a sense of inability. She couldn't; she just couldn't.

Without Myka noticing, HG's eyes tore away from hers and returned to Jerry's gaze.

"It sounds as though you've made quite a journey, yourself." She smiled, her eyes glistening with admiration.

"We certainly have." He agreed, nodding. "We certainly have."

HG's lips parted and she smiled widely, genuinely, when she suddenly felt Myka move in her arms.

"I, um, I'm going to go upstairs." Myka stuttered, her eyes focused on the ground, feeling very suffocated. "I'm not feeling very well, I, um, I'm going to lay down."

HG and Jerry were on her in an instant, and Myka felt HG's grip on her change from faux affection to genuine concern quicker than she could process. "Are you alright, Darling?" HG asked, trying to meet Myka's downcast eyes. "I'll come with you."

"No," Myka said a little too quickly, raising her gaze to meet HG's. "No, you, uh, I'm fine." Myka insisted, slipping out of HG's arms. "It was probably just the plane ride or something. We still have to get to the business side of this conversation with Mr. Backhart,"

HG took a small step back, suddenly understanding. She wasn't sure where she had crossed a line, but recognized Myka's retreat. "Well, alright. If you're sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Myka insisted. Quickly, she met Jerry's eyes. "Do you mind if I take our key?" she asked quietly. "Helena will take care of whatever needs to be taken care of."

"Oh, right, sure," Jerry stuttered, reaching behind him to grab the girls' key. "Here you are."

"Thanks," Myka breathed, offering a tiny smile before looking at HG. "You sure you've got this?" she asked, anxiously waiting for her script to come to an end.

"Yes, of course, Darling." HG smiled a slight hint of hurt in her eyes.

"Thanks," Myka managed, spinning around and making her way up the stairs as fast as she could without looking suspicious.

_**Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**_

_**-G**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13._**

**__A/N: _I'm sure you guys are tired of the word sorry coming from me, but, once again, I'm sorry it took me so long to update. The past couple of weeks have been hell. By best friend's long term relation suddenly came to an end, another friend's father past away, family life's been rocky, school's been getting out of hand, etc., etc. I'm not going to drown you guys in the drama of my life, just know that I am trying. Also, I've been writing, trying to dig my way out of a couple holes I fell into. I'm a few chapters ahead of myself at this point, but still really iffy on them. This chapter was sort of left as a "yes this needs to be written but I'll get to it later" for a while, and I finally got some words down and, frankly, I hate it. However, it's something to produce, and I'll live you with the promise that there will be improvement in the future. Thank you so much for your patience!_**

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**Chapter Seven**

Myka Bering's mind was racing, and she wasn't completely sure of any thought that passed. Her own thoughts were no longer coherent, and she struggled to keep up as they sped through her mind, instead getting hit with waves of things she was far too stubborn to call emotion.

"_Go, go, go, go, go, go, go"_

"_Get a grip, Berring. Get a hold of yourself!"_

"_Moovvvvvvee! Faster, faster, faster, go, go, go, go, go"_

"_Breathe, Myka. Breathe"_

"_What the hell am I doing?"_

These thoughts swam through her eyes and slammed themselves into the walls of her mind, bouncing off one and onto the other. As her mind raced and crashed, her body climbed, lifeless in its movements, barely connected to the mind that controlled it. As her mind raced, her body rebelled; her body dragged itself up the steps, rushed and wild. Instability radiated off the agent as her body drowned itself in its own mind, trying to keep up with it.

"Oh! Sorry! I, uh, here let me help you."

Myka's eyes were blind to the body at the top of the stairs, and her eyes only cleared when she slammed into the other woman. Myka was flustered, and managed nothing more than a blank stare as the other woman bent down and picked up Myka's bag, which had been dropped.

When she straightened, Myka's mind cleared and she managed an apologetic smile.

"I- Sorry! I wasn't looking I guess." Myka laughed, taking her bag gratefully.

The woman smiled and shrugged, unaffected by Myka's lack of grace. "I don't think I've seen you before. You're the new tenant in #4?"

Myka took a breath, grateful for her apathy. "Yeah, yes, #4." She smiled. "Do you live here too?"

"Yeah, #2. I'm the only other apartment on your side of the hall. I'm, uh, Jillian, by the way."

Myka slung her bag over her shoulder and shook Jillian's hand, a friendly smile on her lips. "Myka,"

Jillian smirked. "Myka; I like that. Cool name. Good to meet you, Myka."

"Thanks," Myka chuckled, "Nice to meet you."

For a moment, the two women stood there, smiling awkwardly at each other, trying to find something to say, before Jillian spoke up. "Well, uh, I have to run, but I'll see you around."

"Yeah, of course." Myka breathed, once again thankful for her breaking the awkwardness. "I'll, uh, see you."

Jillian smirked before slipping around Myka and starting down the stairs.

"Oh, hey?" Myka called, remembering the friendly neighbor part she had to play.

Jillian stopped and turned around, looking up at Myka.

"Any crazy neighbors I should know about? Any musicians that like the play drums at three a.m.? Kids that throw orgies next door?

Jillian laughed. "No, you're safe. You um," Jillian paused, before looking up at Myka and chuckling. "This is supposed to be a surprise, but it's kind of an awkward tradition, so I'll give you a warning. Everyone's really close here; it's really important for Clara and Jerry to know everyone that lives here. Expect a crowd of us to knock on your door tonight. We'll have wine and some food, but new tenants are always caught off guard when the neighbors make a party out of introducing themselves in your apartment. It's, um, it's a really weird tradition, but there's something about Jerry and Clara that makes it less rude and intrusive than it actually is."

Myka exhaled. "Oh, okay." She stuttered, chuckling nervously. "Thanks."

"Yeah; just a warning." Jillian smiled, turning around and finally completing her trip down the stairs.

_Great_, Myka thought. Lack of privacy is an undercover agent's nightmare.

Myka took a breath, repositioned the bag on her shoulder, and started down the hall, not sure how long she could last.

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_**Thanks for reading! Just so you know, I'll be out of town, with no internet access for the next 1/2 week or so, so don't expect anything immediate, but it is coming. Also, please no spoilers about the mid-season finale. With all the chaos I missed it, and have been unable to find the time to watch it. So please don't say anything about it.**_

_**-G**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13**

**A/N: _ Thanks for your patience everyone! I'm much happier with this one than I am with the last chapter. I hope you like it._**

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**Chapter Eight**

"Myka?"

HG stood by the doorway, just far enough inside for the door to be completely shut behind her, waiting for a response. The main room comprised of a living area, kitchen, and dining area, was completely empty, seemingly untouched by Myka. HG stood there, waiting for a response, and sighed, looking over the room as no one answered her.

HG paid little attention to the kitchen, having no interest in letting her lack of experience with modern day kitchen appliances burn Greenwich Village to ashes, but eyed the living area with intrigue. She eyed the empty room, waiting for Myka to appear, or at least for her voice to sound, but when nothing came, she sighed, awkwardly shoved a hand into her jean pocket and filled the silence with the sound of her own steps.

Like the lobby, a single hand-woven rug lay on the hardwood floor. A leather love seat leaned against the wall, directly across the room from the large bookshelf, which spanned from the ceiling to the floor. The love seat was next to a fireplace, which, according to Jerry, was fine to light if they were to ever have the inclination, and HG knew she would be perfectly content with spending an extended period of time here. She gazed at the bookshelf, which had been equipped with about twenty of what Jerry had called the favorites of he and his wife, and she imagined tearing through them all. From a quick scan through, she recognized very few titles, but was sure Myka had read them all. She had been given a friend who loved literature, an apartment that honored it and, and city that birthed classics, literary revolutions. But she had work to do, and while her friend may love literature, she didn't seem to be particularly keen on this particular British author at the moment. Despite its romanticism, this city was to be nothing more than a crime scene to them. They had work to do.

"Oh, I'm feel fine now. Don't worry about me."

Myka appeared from the hall and strode into the living area, passing HG coolly.

"I called for you; you didn't respond." HG countered, not looking up. Suddenly she was interested in learning the titles of every book on their shelf. She was tired of following Myka around like a child waiting to be forgiven.

"I could have been passed out." Myka suggested, roaming around the room, herself.

A particular book caught HG's attention and she pulled it out of the shelf, giving a Myka a quick, unamused glance that made Myka's jaw set. "You seem to have become rather passionate about waving your wounds in front of me without allowing me to help mend them. I do believe you'd be able to take care of yourself at this point."

Myka straightened and stared at HG, who was tracing the book with her fingers, ignoring Myka with the ease of a woman who made her way through life mastering the art of indifference.

"We don't have time for this."

HG flipped open the book, but looked up at Myka. Her eyes were calm, maybe a little tired. "Of course not, Darling. A lack of time seems to be the new common factor in our relationship doesn't it?"

Myka was silent. She simply stared, watching HG trace the binding of the book with a lover's caress. She looked down at it, her eyes gliding over a few lines before smiling slightly, sadly. "I must say I do prefer meeting a gunpoint. Ironically enough, it felt far less tragic."

With that, HG looked up and gave Myka a short look. It was a look that felt far more like words than anything else, and even though Myka couldn't translate them, she didn't have to. It was the kind of look that provoked a response, thoughts, memories. Myka was not falling for this, however, despite the lump forming in her throat. She was not getting tricked into believing she was the reason they were barely speaking.

"Don't you dare turn this around on me," Myka challenged, her voice barely audible, her head shaking.

HG closed the book and placed it on the coffee table. "I'm not turning anything around." HG responded, facing Myka. "I understand that I-," HG trailed off for a moment, her diction faltering as she struggled to find the right words, "messed up." HG decided, shrugging. "But you have to understand that you're being unreasonable."

"_I'm _being unreasonable?!" Myka shot, her voice rising.

"Yes!" HG answered her hands rising from her side. "Pete would handle the situation with more maturity than you are! You have no idea what you want, other than being angry. You're hiding in your anger, Myka. You can't-,"

"I don't have time for this." Myka interrupted, her hands throwing upwards as she spun around, picking HG's bag up from the ground and throwing it at her, a little more forcibly than necessary.

HG's eyes widened incredulously as she caught her bag. "Why not!? What could possibly be limiting your time tonight?"

Then, like a godsend, a melodic knock sounded at the door andMyka's lips pulledintoa stressed, sarcastic smile. "_That_." She hissed. "_That_ is why I don't have time for this. Go put your bags away!"

Myka straightened her shirt and started toward the door before HG's voice stopped her.

"Who did you invite over?"

"I didn't invite them. They invited themselves. Apparently, it's tradition to throw a party at the new tenant's apartment every time someone moves in."

HG's lips pursed. "That hardly seems appropriate." she scoffed, her eyes still tired.

"Just go!" Myka hissed, pointing down the hall to the bedroom HG had yet to discover. She watched HG saunter down the hall and unclenched her jaw, shaking the anxiety out with a sharp exhale. Spinning around, Myka ran a hand threw her hair, put a smile on her lips, and opened the door.

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**Thanks for reading! Please read and review :)**

**-G**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13. If I did, HG would have had a much bigger part in this past season and Leena would be alive._**

**__A/N:** **_I'm so sorry. Again. This is actually the first weekend since my last update that has me in the state I live in and without any company. The play I'm writing all of a sudden started taking up a lot of time after school, and the end of the marking period gave me up to nine hours of homework on night last week. Basically, I've been super busy. Thanks to Hurricane Sandy, I got a day off from classes and managed to fit a chapter in. I hope you guys like it :)_**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

H.G. dropped her bags on the floor and glared at them, lowering herself onto the bed as she listened to the sound of the door open. Jerry's voice boomed through their apartment and footsteps shuffled their way inside, the noises reverberating down the narrow hall that led to the bedroom. The room was small- smaller than those at Leena's -and uncomfortably empty. The walls were completely bare, and the room held nothing but a small, empty dresser, an unmade bed, and a few shelves. Myka's bags were tucked away in the closet, and HG could see a few of her shirts hanging, two pairs of shoes tucked underneath them.

Myka's voice was echoing off the walls, thanking someone for something as other voices chattered excitedly. H.G. eyed her bags, knowing that she'd get yelled at for taking the time to put everything away while they had guests, but also knowing she'd get yelled at for keeping everything unpacked.

"So where's the girlfriend?" Jerry asked happily, deciding things for HG, who bent down to grab her bags, deciding it'd be less obvious if she at least hid them in the closet.

"Girlfriend?"

HG straightened, hearing the surprise in the voice of a girl she couldn't name. She quickly threw the bags in the closet and sauntered down the hall.

"There she is!"

"Here I am!" H.G. laughed, smiling at Jerry's excitement and making her way to Myka side.

The small crowd of neighbors had surrounded itself around the kitchen island, which was now cluttered with wine bottles and food, and the voices quieted upon H.G.'s arrival, every pair of eyes on her as she glanced around at them, wrapping a tight arm around Myka's waist.

Myka straightened just enough for HG to feel and smiled at her neighbors. "This is Helena." She introduced, awkwardly nudging the woman attached to her waist.

H.G. smiled at her neighbors, watching Myka's eyes remain on one particular woman longer than the others. The woman was around Myka's age, give or take a year or two, and pretty enough for H.G. to eye her with a suspicion she almost hoped would be noticed. The girl's light olive skin was significantly darker than H.G.'s, and she was just slightly taller. Like everyone else, she was eyeing the couple with a polite interest, but her eyes burned with an intensity that made H.G.'s mouth dry with distaste.

"Good to meet you, Helena."

With that, H.G. tore her glance away from the bright eyed girl, and she was shaking the hand of Jerry's wife, Clara. Kelly and Syd introduced themselves next, who were dating, but, no, they did not live in the same apartment, and they took it upon themselves to introduce the couple on Myka's other side, Fi and Cam, explaining that their apartment would be in between that of Syd and Kelly even if they both lived on the third floor. HG laughed along with the rushed explanation, knowing she wasn't supposed to understand.

"I'm Jillian."

Helena took the hand of the only neighbor left, the bright eyed girl, who was apparently named Jillian, and smiled.

"It's a pleasure." Helena bowed; falling into a British charm she felt would nauseate the intended few and enchant the rest.

The corners of Jillian's lips raised and she glanced at Myka, straightening.

Jerry took the final introduction as his cue to open the first bottle of wine, his wife fishing the wine glasses neither H.G. nor Myka knew existed out of the cabinet. As Jerry quickly got his approval to pour everyone a glass and began to drain the first bottle and a half, Clara wrapped her arms around the waists of the agents and explained that she always bought a new set of wineglasses for new tenants. "Nothing says 'Welcome to the family!' like a set of wine glasses for us all to use!" she explained, her voice shaking with the experience of a women who lived every moment of her life with the intention of sucking as much fun out of it as possible.

Myka separated herself from H.G.'s embrace to help Jerry with the wine and H.G. joined the rest of the neighbors in the living room, who quickly became her audience. Clearly experienced in the art of throwing parties at other people's apartments, the neighbors had already pulled furniture from the kitchen and dining area into the living room by the time H.G. made her way to the group, and everyone was enjoying themselves as if they were in their own homes.

Unsurprisingly, H.G. was silently given the role of entertainer, and even after Myka had been assured that everyone had a full glass of wine in their hand and was perfectly content, the questions seemed to be pointed at H.G., rather than her. No one seemed to tire of the accent, the seductive tone of passion in her voice, and the crowd seemed to appreciate the chance to stare at the British beauty for an extended period of time. Myka watched the neighbors with slight air of discontent, annoyed by how blatantly mesmerized they were by H.G., who had positioned herself upon the couch in a way that gave Myka no choice but to be completely surrounded by her body, and tried to relax into the knowledge that it was good for the part they were playing. With H.G. entertaining, specifically with her arousing different emotions and responses from every neighbor, Myka was given the chance to observe. They may think of her as a gracious host, but their mere attendance at this party made them fill the top six spots on Myka's list of suspects, and she eyed them all with the suspicious eye of a detective, hidden behind the façade of an excited new neighbor.

Myka allowed the retelling of her love story to drone into background noise as she examined her subjects. Jerry and Clara, two fourths of the human crescent that separated the living area from the rest of the apartment, sat in chairs that had been pulled away from the dining table, Jerry's arm casually draped over his wife's arm like there was nowhere else it could possible sit. His light blue eyes shone just as brightly as her hazel pair, and they had matching smile lines. Neither Clara nor Jerry seemed to be bothered by the early markings of age that were beginning to appear on their bodies, and this lack of insecurity made the slight grey of Clara's hair shine with an alluring beauty.

The other half of the crescent was filled by Fi and Cam, sitting atop bar stools form the kitchen island. The hands not holding wine glasses were tangled together like neither noticed, and they both watched H.G. with a genuine interest. They each were breathtaking, a certain gentleness about them. In a sense, they reminded Myka of Leena and, like Leena, they watched the group with a maternal love in their eyes. Fi had a smoky complexion with freckles scattered around her cheekbones. Her eyes were a light green, the kind that inspired secrets to be told with the assurance they would be kept, and they gazed around the room with a gentle protectiveness, a honest love for everyone in it, especially the blonde beside her.

Unlike Fi's partially dreaded, light brown hair, Cam's blonde waves cascaded down to her shoulder blades, casually mesmerizing. She was paler than Fi, but not quite as cream-colored as HG, and a slight blush colored her cheeks. Where Fi inspired trust, Cam radiated grace, and together they seemed barely human, angelic, even.

"So what do you do," Kelly asked, sitting on the corner of the couch that wasn't occupied by H.G. and Myka, "like, for a living?"

Myka sent a quick glance H.G.'s way, hoping no one would notice. They hadn't talked much about the story they were going to feed the people they'd meet in New York, and Myka was regretting it.

"I'm a writer." H.G. answered simply, not an inkling of hesitation in her voice, "Myka's, well, she's a bit of everything. What is it, Darling? You were Pre-Med and then Pre-Law?"

"And everything in between," the women said unanimously, finding safety in a bit of truth once again, relieved that they could think along the same lines quickly enough to fool a room full of people.

"A writer?" Syd asked, sitting in between Kelly's legs, on the floor. "Dude, I don't care what you plans are tomorrow night, you're cancelling. You're getting a table at The Sea."

H.G. and Myka looked down at Syd, who was gazing up at Fi and Cam nonchalantly. Fi and Cam were smirking and they quickly offered an explanation.

"We own a tavern," Fi said, motioning Cam, "The Sea."

"Don't listen to any of those dumbass pamphlets telling you about the Rockettes or the Statue of Liberty or whatever, this is the coolest place in New York." Syd offered, shrugging.

"It's beautiful." Clara added, eyeing Cam.

Kelly nodded, watching Myka and H.G. excitedly. "Yeah, it's filled with old stuff. Well, old stuff and local artists' work. It's our favorite place in the world."

Fi and Cam watched their neighbors with a small smile on their lips, clearly having heard this many times. "We host open mic nights every night. Poets, musicians, authors…everyone's welcome."

"It's usually poets though," Jerry added.

Cam nodded, agreeing. "It is, but we get a pretty nice variety throughout the week. If you're into writing it really is a great place to be."

"Their eggplant fries, man. I'm telling you..." Syd said, shaking her head.

H.G. and Myka made eye contact, the same words echoing in both of their ears: "old stuff".

"Well, it looks like we've got plans tomorrow night." Myka smiled, looking at H.G.

"We certainly do," H.G. agreed, tearing her eyes away from Myka to smile at the applause their consent erupted.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. Hopefully there weren't too many typos. Please R&R! **_

_**-G**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13__  
_**

**A/N: _If you are actually reading this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I can't even tell you how grateful I am to anyone who has the patience to stick with me through this. I have never had such insane complications keep me from writing. First it was Sandy taking out my power, then it was the workload that came with the missed days of class and such, and the play I've been writing has kept me pretty crazy as well. However, I do still plan to finish this story, even if it take me the next decade. Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy. I'm on break now so I'll see how much I can get done over the next couple of days._**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"I really wish you would relax." Myka complained, eying the train of stubborn neighbors that had formed by her sink. She wasn't sure whether New York had forgotten or embraced the concept of overstaying, but her guests had officially spent over seven hours in her apartment and thus a small mountain of dishes had accumulated throughout the night. As much as she appreciated the help, the simple hostess etiquette she had learned from her mother was making Myka jumpy. Still, they refused to back down.

"We'll be leaving in a few minutes, Doll." Clara answered simply, passing a dripping plate to her husband for him to dry.

"Even more of a reason for you to enjoy the remainder of your night!" Myka countered.

Jerry sent Myka a sideways look that made her laugh despite herself. "I am an old man, Myka." He began, a smile on his lips, "another ounce of enjoyment and my body's going to give out."

Myka chuckled, shaking her head and accepting defeat. "What's your excuse?" she asked Jillian, who was quietly scrubbing a platter.

"I just like being helpful." She smiled.

Myka pursed her lips, mostly to bite back to smile that was appearing on her own lips, and squinted. "Bad excuse." She answered.

Jillian grinned anyways, passing the platter to Clara and pointing at a small pile of paper plates on the coffee table. "Fine, I'll sit back and let you take care of those."

"Fine," Myka said, smirking.

Myka squeezed through the crowd of neighbors that hadn't offered to help, mostly because they were all far too many glasses of wine in to recognize common courtesy, and made eye contact with H.G. There was a quiet solemnity in her eyes, not quite sadness, but so far away from her usual arrogant charm that Myka felt her stomach churn, something she was far too stubborn to call worry icing in her veins.

H.G. blinked, noticing Myka's expression, and offered a small, reassuring smile, far lighter than any other exchange between the two women since her return, and brought her gaze back to the small crowd around her.

"Myka!" Syd beamed, her attention shifting from the group to the brunette so quickly she seemed to get whiplash. "You headed to the kitchen any time soon?"

"Yes I am." Myka smiled, noticing the incredulous look Kelly shot Syd, "You need anything?"

"Yeah! Wanna fill me up?" she asked, draining the last sip of wine and handing Myka her glass.

Kelly sent Syd an ever sharper glance, which would have made anyone cringe, expect, apparently, Syd, who simply shrugged it off.

"It's my last one." She assured, ignoring the razor blades in her girlfriend's eyes.

Myka laughed, a bit uneasily, and eyed Kelly, who continued to stare and Syd, and, when she realized she would continue to be ignored, pursed her lips and shrugged, shaking her head. Myka took the glass, grateful everyone else declined her offer to fill them up, and tried her best to balance the stack of plates in one hand and the wine in the other.

Myka returned to the island, wishing she had more than two hands, and smiled and Jerry, Clara and Jillian.

"You're leaving?" Myka asked, noticing that Jerry had taken back the sweater he had taken off a few hours prior, emptying her handful of napkins and paper plates into the trash bin.

"We are." Jerry smiled, just the slightest slur in his voice.

"We need to get this idiot into bed. You would think he'd have learned his limits by now." Clara explained, eyeing her husband with amusement, not exactly sober herself.

"Limits," Jerry countered, a pointed finger emphasizing his point, "are all in your head."

Clara watched her husband, an unimpressed purse in her lips and the same amusement in her eyes as she watched him tap his forehead, slightly hunched.

"And I think you just called me old." He added, as if he hadn't labeled himself old just a few minutes prior.

Myka chuckled, watching the couple.

"You _are_ old." Clara responded casually, gripping his arm.

Jerry, too drunk to come up with a clever response, dramatically kissed the forehead of his wife and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

Myka eyed them, smiling, and, when they each pulled her into an embrace far too tight for people who had only met a few hours ago, she hugged them back just as tightly.

"They're the craziest pair I've ever met." Jillian smiled, shaking her head as she watched the door shut behind them.

Myka smiled, thinking of Hugo and Artie and her own understanding of the word 'crazy', and nodded. "They're something else." Shea agreed, grabbing the nearly empty bottle of wine and pouring its remnants into Syd's glass.

"The two of them party harder than a lot of people our age, and it's been a while since they've had an excuse to celebrate a new tenant, so I think they had fun tonight."

Myka laughed, nodding, watching an opportunity to investigate unfold before her.

"Yeah, Jerry said it's been a while since they had a new tenant. He mentioned how hard he's been trying to rent this place out."

Jillian nodded. "Yeah, it's been a while since this place has been lived in."

Myka eyed Jillian, taking in the note of seriousness that had fallen into her voice. "Why? Did something happen here that we should know about?"

Myka added just the right amount of concern into her voice to allow Jillian to jump to reassure her. "No, no, you're good. Nothing crazy ever happened here. I think it's just the economy or something. Actually, considering who last lived her, you've probably got yourself the most innocent room in the whole building."

Myka chuckled lightly. "Why's that?" she asked casually

"Jenny was a sweetheart." Jillian sad quietly, "She'd lighten up the room when she walked in; had the most adorable laugh. She was really just the sweetest thing."

Myka nodded, smiling. "She sounds great. She moved away?" she asked, remembering the name 'Jennifer' stamped onto one of the x-rays in her folder.

Jillian sighed, looking up at Myka before responding. "She died a few months ago: car crash."

Myka's eyes widened, nodding, allowing sympathy to make its way into her expression. "I'm sorry." she offered, the kind of tone in her voice that could never express what someone wanted to say properly, one she had mastered over the years.

"It's okay." Jillian shrugged. "You know, you move on after a while. Thank you, though."

Myka nodded, watching Jillian carefully, noticing the slight distaste in her eye.

"Right, well, we're glad that you and Helena are here to patch up that hole. This place feels off balance when there's an empty room."

Myka smiled. "We're glad we're here too."

Myka glanced behind her in H.G's direction and saw the circle dispersing, Syd and Kelly walking toward her.

"Hey! Sorry this is a little late…" Myka offered, handing Syd the glass.

"No, she's good." Kelly said, shaking her head. "We're actually going to head home, thanks thought."

Myka placed the glass back on the island. "Oh, okay. Is everything alright?" she asked, looking to H.G. for an explanation, who didn't seem to have one.

"Yeah! Totally!" Kelly coughed, almost sarcastically. "I just, uh, bad shoulder." She said, pointing toward her collarbone, "going to try and sleep it off."

"Oh, alright. I hope you feel better." Myka offered.

Kelly, then Syd, pulled Myka into a hug, each doing the same for Jillian, H.G., Fi and Cam, and Myka watched the pair saunter out the door.

Myka looked up at Jillian, who shook her head, a small smirk on her face. "Don't worry about it; they're always at each other's throats." She muttered.

Myka nodded, understanding, and looked up at Fi and Cam. "Wine?" she asked, motioning to the glass beside her.

"No," Cam smiled, grabbing FI's hand. "Hung-over bartenders are not as good as they sound."

Fi groaned and buried her face in Cam's shoulder, clearly having already consumed a glass or two too many.

Cam bit her lip and smiled, running her hand up Fi's arm. "Yeah, we should definitely be heading home." She laughed.

"I'll follow you back," Jillian offered, sliding around the island to join FI and Cam.

Just slightly awkwardly, the three women shuffled around each other, each pecking both Helena and Myka on the cheek before slipping out the door, exchanging 'thank-yous' and 'good-to-meet-yous', and Myka and H.G. were left standing in their kitchen, a glass of wine no one wanted to claim sitting on their island.

"That was interesting." Myka noted, eyeing the door.

"That it was." H.G. agreed. "It's certainly somewhere to start." She added, wondering why the entire building seemed so effected by whatever tension lie in Syd and Kelly's relationship.

Myka nodded. "We need to look into the girl who lived here before us too. She's one of the victims. Jillian said she died in a car crash."

"Interesting." H.G. agreed.

Myka tore her glance away from the door and eyed H.G. "Are you, um," Myka trailed off, clearing her throat, "you alright? You seemed a little, I don't know, distant when you were over there."

H.G watched Myka for a moment before a small smile appeared on her lips. "Of course, Darling," a smile on her face that wasn't the least bit convincing, "we were discussing literature."

Myka watched her for a few heartbeats before shrugging. "Okay. Well, I'm exhausted."

"As am I." H.G. agreed, following Myka down the hall.

Myka slid her way into the closet, standing on her toes and reaching toward the shelf above her head. Coming back down with two quilts, she tucked them under her arm and grabbed a pillow from the bed, handing the pile to H.G.

"So, uh, goodnight then." She offered quietly, turning away toward the bed.

Understanding, H.G. took the blankets quietly.

"Sleep well, Darling."

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_**Thank you again for reading. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate it. If you'd review, it would make my night :)**_

_**-G**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**_A/N: Thank you so much for all your patience and support. I really appreciate it. Also, I just wanted to adress a few things that I've seen in the reviews. A lot of you have mentioned that Myka needs to calm down and get over it. I totally understand what you're saying, and even I want to get on with the fluffy cuteness, but here's my reasoning for keeping the tension high: Helena's been gone for months. It's been months since they last talked, months since Myka knew anything about the well-being or whereabouts of her, which was one step too many for her to handle. Now, this chapter brings us to the second morning since Helena returned. It's only been one day. I don't know about you guys, but it normally takes me more than a day to completely forgive someone who really, genuinely hurt me, and go back to normal. I want to stay true to normal human behavior, particular Myka's behavior, who tends to build up her walls when she can't handle her emotions. I appreciate all your opinoins and reviews, so I thought I would respond to this. Let me know if you disagree or if you have opinion at all about it! I love to hear from you guys._**

**_Also, I want to respond to one reviewer in particular; a guest who goes by "E". First of all, you're a sweetheart. Thank you for your concern. I got off extremely luckily with Sandy. The storm basically went around my state and hit New Jersey straight on, so we didn't get too much damage outside of the towns on the border, and even then we weren't much compared to Jersey. I live in the center of the state, so I didn't get much but a day or two of crazy winds and a bit of rain. The damage was minimal, and the scheduling problems and lack of power for a day were easy to handle considering the minimal damage. Thank you so much for your concern! I hope anyone else affected by Sandy got off as easily as I did. I hope you all are alright._**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Myka Bering was not one to sleep in obscenely late, so when she awoke to a sunlit bedroom, she jumped up far faster than her body was ready to move. She had been careful not to drink too much, but she was beginning to think a few glasses of water throughout the night would have been a smart choice. Shaking the sheets off her shoulders and sliding out of bed, she stretched, hearing her bones crack in protest.

It took far too long for Myka to realize the banging she was hearing was not in her head.

Myka slid down the hall, thankful that socks and hardwood floors worked so well together, and made her way to the door, crashing into it with drunken grace.

"Myka!"

Myka cracked open her door and peeked out, hoping the night prior had developed relationships close enough for her appearance to be forgiven. Kelly and Fi stood in her doorway, both looking far too perky.

Myka groaned, trying to form a coherent greeting and failing miserably. "What time is it?" she managed.

"It is," Fi began, looking down at her wristwatch, "12:32."

Myka straightened, again moving faster than her body wanted to move. "Shit," she mumbled, glancing behind her at a lumpish H.G.

Fi and Kelly both laughed and Kelly outstretched her arm, handing Myka a glass she hadn't even noticed she was holding. "This building has hosted enough long nights for us to come up with an anti-hangover home remedy. Works like a charm." she promised, smiling.

"Thanks," Myka smiled, taking the glass.

"Sure! See you tonight!"

Myka eyed her, trying to figure out what she was talking about, before remembering; the tavern.

"Right, uh-,"

"One of us will pick you up." Fi smiled, understanding.

"Thanks," Myka laughed, waving them goodbye and shutting the door.

Myka eyed the orange liquid and smelled it suspiciously. It didn't smell anything like fudge, at least, so she took a sip, sliding toward the living room. It wasn't disgusting, but certainly wasn't something she'd like to drink daily. Myka just prayed it'd work.

"You're going to spill that." H.G. observed; her voice thick with sleep as she peeked out from under her quilts.

Myka slid to a stop just before the coffee table, indeed splashing a little bit as she did so, and eyed H.G.

"You're awake."

H.G. rolled onto her back, the blanket falling down to her collarbone, making her look far less lumpish. "What, with that insistent knocking? I didn't drink nearly enough wine to sleep through that."

H.G. sat up and immediately groaned, leaning her head against the seat.

"Not enough, hm?" Myka asked, eyeing her.

Nevertheless, Myka outstretched her arm, offering her the remedy, which she graciously took. Looking down, Myka noticed the book that had been left on the coffee table.

"Is this what you were discussing last night?" Myka asked, looking up at H.G.

H.G. took a sip of the liquid, making the same awkward expression Myka had when she first sipped it, before looking to see what Myka was holding. Recognizing the cover, she looked sheepishly up at her partner.

"It is," she said simply.

Myka nodded, looking down at the book.

"And what were you discussing about it?" Myka asked.

H.G. straightened herself, throwing her legs over the side of the loveseat so as to face Myka, taking another sip of the hangover remedy.

"Well, I had noticed it on the shelf before anyone came over, and when I was banished to the bedroom,"

Myka's eyes narrowed, and H.G pretended not to notice.

"I left it on the coffee table. Fi recognized the cover and asked if I was fan."

Myka looked up and outstretched her arm, asking for the glass, which was given to her. "Mhmm," she said, taking a sip, "and are you a fan of H.G. Wells?"

"I think he's a literary genius."

"Oh?" Myka asked, rolling her eyes.

"I do," H.G. continued taking the glass back from Myka and taking a sip. "I think he captures the aesthetics of language unlike any other, and I think there's a sheer brilliance behind the concepts of each story."

Myka laughed and H.G. smiled, a little too widely for her own good, for as soon as Myka caught sight of it her laugh died out.

"Do our neighbors share in your opinion?" she asked.

"They do. They do, indeed. Apparently Fi is a particularly devoted fan. Cam tells me they own nearly every novel I've written, and many short stories. This book in particular seems to be a favorite amongst our neighbors."

"That's interesting." Myka noted, looking down at the copy of Ann Veronica.

"How so?" H.G. asked.

Myka looked up at H.G and tried not to smile at the sight before her. Her hair was such a mess it looked as though it had been sculpted, and the lines of the couch had embroidered themselves into her cheek, leaving odd, red designs. Her eyes were misty with fatigue, but wide and intent. Clearly, this was more than casual conversation.

"Um, well, there are over 50 novels credited to the name 'H.G. Wells', and Ann Veronica isn't the most popular."

"What is the most popular?" H.G. asked quickly.

Myka hesitated, stuttering slightly. "Um, War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man," Myka looked up and found herself staring back at the same wide eyes, urging her to continue on, "The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Time Machine." Myka trailed off, watching H.G. "You okay?" she asked, watching the women fall into thought.

H.G. nodded silently before meeting Myka's eyes. "It's just that it's been over a century since I worked on those novels." She explained, "and you can list their titles like they're the names of your family members. A group of friends can spend over an hour discussing a particular character like she's a friend of theirs. Fi can consider H.G. Wells her favorite author, can read and re-read the novels I've written, and…" H.G. trailed off, looking down at the book.

"And what?" Myka asked, watching her.

H.G. hesitated before meeting Myka's eyes. "It was always Charles who got the credit for my books, as you know. People who enjoyed the books always wanted to discuss with him, and even then, the vast majority of them were women trying to seduce him. I just never realized that…"

H.G. trailed off again, something she rarely did, especially in the same conversation, but Myka knew better than to tear her eyes away.

After a few moments, H.G. looked up again. "Have you read any of my books, Myka?" H.G. asked. She knew Myka well enough to recognize the answer was probably obvious, but her relationship with Myka had tried very hard to remain as professional as possible and Myka certainly wasn't the type to allow herself to become star struck.

"I have." Myka nodded, a smile on her lips. She reached for the glass before continuing. "My dad used to read me your books when I was a kid."

H.G. nodded. She knew very little about Myka's family; just that she had been raised in a bookstore, which is where the love of literature was born, that she had a sister named Tracy and a had always had a rather difficult relationship with her father. Still, she recognized the expression on Myka's face, the nostalgia for something she held sacred. It was similar to the expression Fi had worn during their discussion last night, and H.G. felt the same emotions return.

"I hadn't realized that my books could be so sacred to someone." H.G. said, so quietly it almost wasn't said.

Myka smiled, taking a sip from the glass before offering it to H.G. "I think you would be amazed how high the intrinsic value of your books are to some people, Helena."

H.G. smiled softly, almost sadly. "I hadn't realized."

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_**Thanks for reading. You guys have been so sweet lately I thought I'd take a break from the tension and put it some sweetness. You'll have more of this in later chapters :). Please review :)**_

_**-G**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**A/N:_ I'm sorry for being so late again, and especially for this chapter. I was having a lot of trouble transitioning into a chapter that'll come later, and so this was thrown in between. It's still the rough draft, and I was planning on fixing it, but seeing as to how life has been going lately, I wanted to get something out there before the New Year. Even though everything is still insane, I am on break, and hopefully everything else will calm down and the lack of classes going on will give me a chance to write some more. So, again, sorry. Also, thanks for all the support. You're all such massive sweethearts I can't even handle it._**

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**Chapter 12**

On a granite countertop the buzz of the Farnsworth is exponentially louder than it usually is and therefore the nightmare of a woman doing her makeup. Proving that Pete had the ability to peeve her without even intending to, Myka's Farnsworth jumped into life while sitting on the bathroom vanity, making Myka's breath catch so quickly she nearly screeched.

"Pete," Myka grumbled, flipping the Farnsworth open with a flick of her fingers.

"Hey, Mykes!"

Pete was a lot of things, but subtle was not one of them. Putting the eyeliner down, she removed her glance from the mirror and eyed her Farnsworth, aiming to calm the nerves his voice was drowning in.

"Jesus, Myka. What'd you do to your face."

"Pete," Myka sighed, rolling her smudged eyes and pushing new toiletries and bags aside, looking for makeup remover. "It's makeup. You don't need to jump on a plane."

Without looking, Myka saw Pete's eyes relax, his nose crinkling slightly.

"Oh," he said, his expression masking the one Myka was imagining.

"So, uh, is there a reason you called , Pete?" Myka asked, still shoveling through her surroundings.

"Uh, no, I mean, no, not really, I just-,"

"H.G.!" Myka called, interrupting Pete, "Where did you put the makeup remover?"

"Ahhh," Pete breathed, realizing Myka wasn't listening to him, instead straightening in his seat and watching his Farnsworth intently.

"The what?" H.G. asked, her voice muffled through walls even before they made their way to Pete's Farnsworth, a slight hint of indignation apparent despite it.

"The makeup remover!"

"The what?"

Myka stopped searching, her eyes dropping to send Pete a look that anyone but Pete would have taken to be emotionless. "The little blue bottle," Myka called, "black cap, white writing."

"Oh, yes! It's in the mirror!"

Myka's head tilted, her face morphing into an expression it didn't take Pete to notice.

"The mirror," she whispered, mouthing at Pete, her eyes telling him that there was no placement more ridiculous for makeup remover than a mirror.

Myka reached out and tapped what Pete presumed to be the mirror, which, indeed opened to reveal a cabinet.

"Right, let's put Myka's stuff in the hidden compartments. That sounds like a good plan." Myka grumbled, reaching out and bringing the bottle into Pete's view.

Their morning had been rather amicable, warm, even, at the beginning. Still, nice stories came to an end and a shared glass of anti-hangover magic eventually emptied. Then, there was nothing left but the remnants of a fading headache, suitcases full of their things to be put away, and empty rooms to fill.

Myka had gone to the store to pick up some necessities and H.G had been given the task of moving in. Of course, Myka came home with an insufficient amount of tea, and even the tea she did buy was her favorite, not H.G's. Meanwhile, H.G had proven her organization to be vastly different than that of Myka, and soon they were arguing over the correct placement of fruit in the refrigerator and, apparently, makeup remover in the mirror/cabinet.

Myka looked down at her Farnsworth, staring at it for half a beat before saying anything, as if she just remembered Pete was technically there.

"Sorry, Pete. What were you saying?"

"Uh, I was just checking in, saying hello."

Before Myka could respond, a melodic knock sounded, too far away to be on the door of the bathroom Myka was in.

"H.G., can you get the door?"

"I'm a little busy at the moment. Do you think you could get it?"

"Right, because I'm not busy at all."

Pete closed his eyes and dropped his head back, sighing. "Glad to hear things are going well."

"I understand that the dress code of women has changed rather significantly since my time, but I hardly think it'd be appropriate for me to greet our neighbors naked. I think I'm a little busier than you at the moment."

Myka placed the unopened bottle of makeup remover on the counter, so gently it terrified Pete, and returned her gaze to him.

"Pete, I have to go."

Pete sighed again, smiling grimly at her and nodding. "Have fun,"

Myka smirked sarcastically, her eyes shooting daggers as she folded the Farnsworth shut and swung out of the bathroom.

Taking a breath, opened the door, a smile plastered on her lips.

"Myka! Hey!"

"Hi, Jillian," Myka smiled, stepping aside to let the woman in, "come on in."

Closing the door behind her, Myka spun around the face Jillian. "Sorry we're running a bit late. We tried to spend the day moving in and lost track of time."

"Don't worry about it," Jillian grinned, "We understand."

Myka smirked and nodded, catching Jillian's glance just as she noticed the trail of eyeliner that made its way down her cheek.

"Oh, you-you've got something on your face." Jillian smiled, almost shyly.

"Yeah, my, um, phone went off when I was doing my makeup and scared me. And, uh, then you came." Myka offered, stuttering over her story.

Without further explanation, Jillian reached out and began rubbing the makeup away, her hand cupping Myka's cheek as her thumb did the work. Myka froze, not sure how to respond, but allowing it to happen anyways.

"Hello, Jillian,"

Far slower than one would have expected, Jillian turned to face their intruder, her hand leaving Myka's face with the nonchalance of innocence.

"Hey, Helena. Good to see you."

"The pleasure is mine." H.G. assured her, eyeing her so darkly it was remarkable Jillian hadn't cowered immediately.

"You're dressed."

Myka observed, trying to understand what just happened, mentally kicking herself for unintentionally making herself seem like a potentially unfaithful girlfriend.

"I am," H.G agreed, nodding, "good to see you are as well."

Myka swallowed, sending H.G a glance, who was standing as nonchalantly as Jillian.

"Are you ready to go?" H.G asked, almost sweetly.

"Yeah." Myka spat, grabbing her Farnsworth and throwing it into her bag, letting Jillian lead her them out of her apartment.

She didn't say anything, but Myka was fully aware of the way H.G. waited for Jillian to glance at them before grabbing Myka's hand.

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_**Thanks for reading! Please review! Also, thanks for bearing with the grumbling in my authors note. Sorry about that haha.**_

_**-G**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13  
_**

**_A/N: Alright, so I'm supposed to be cleaning, but I haven't stopped cleaning in three days. Also, sharing a room with a sister is terrible, because it means you have to clean someone else's mess over and over and over again. In other words, I'm tired and pissy and writing a chapter whether I"m supposed to be getting ready for family to come over or not. The good news is that you now have a chapter (and another one coming as soon as I finish editing it). The bad news is that the the editing isn't actually editing, just quickly skimming and hoping no one walks into my room. So, I hope I managed to make it through this chapter using coherent English. Let me know if it doesn't turn out that way and I'll come back in a couple days and fix it haha._**

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**Chapter 13**

The Sea was just slightly too large to be properly called a hole-in-the-wall, but the lacking label didn't do anything to make the room feel larger. The unnervingly slanted walls were made of brick, the pattern seemingly arbitrary, and grey mortar spilled out of the cracks. The floor was dark, aged wood, and matched both the bar, which took up nearly the entire left wall, and the stage, which consumed the narrow back wall, just a few inches above the ground. On the stage, a carbon microphone stood on its stand in front of a simple stool. By the time H.G. and Myka had made their way into the building, a young man with delicately sculpted facial hair occupied the stage, his husky voice filling the room, accompanied by a guitar.

H.G., still holding tight to Myka's hand, followed Jillian inside before silently leading Myka away from the blonde. As Jillian made her way to the clump of neighbors that had arranged themselves around a high table and at the very end stools of the bar, H.G. and Myka sauntered to the front end of the bar where Fi was mixing a couple of drinks for a group of men wearing flannel.

On the other end, Clara and Jerry sat around the high table, affectionately squeezing Jillian's forearm in greeting, the same excitement that always shone on their faces when the met with a friend, always as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Kelly, sitting on a barstool with her back against the bar was smiling at Jillian before Syd stole her attention away by slamming a newly empty shot glass down on the high table, jumping in place.

Myka tore her eyes away from the group, seeing nothing suspicious about their behavior or belongings, and let her eyes wander around the tavern. There was a modest crowd, enough to comfortably keep the lights on, but not so many people that the atmosphere was claustrophobic. It seemed like everyone had at least one person joining them, and no particular individual caught her attention. If not the beauty of the wood, the furniture all seemed relatively normal. The décor, however, was far from innocent in Myka's book, and she was reminded of Kelly's description of "old stuff".

"H.G.," Myka whispered, stepping into the woman's side so that she could whisper into her ear without being heard. With a nod of her head, she subtlety directed the Brit's attention to the wall behind the bar. Like the rest of the room, the wall was brick, charmingly messy, but, unlike the other three walls, large squares were carved into the brick, acting as shelves. There, typewriters and antique journals sat, defining the atmosphere of the tavern and triggering a shot of adrenaline in Myka.

Before H.G. could respond, the agents were shaken out of their thoughts by Syd, whose lack of common courtesy allowed her to shout across the room, resulting in a bitter glare from the musician on stage.

"Damn," she shouted, bringing the attention of the agents, and the rest of the tavern, for that matter, to her, "looking good, neighbors!"

H.G and Myka both smiled, Myka blushing despite herself as the neighbors laughed, Syd winking suggestively before returning her gaze to the small crowd of friends around her.

H.G. and Myka both smiled, Myka blushing despite herself as she waved humbly at the group, and Fi, with the help of Syd, noticed the pair leaning against her bar.

"Hey!" she greeted brightly, "Glad you could make it!"

"I assure you, it is our pleasure," H.G. insisted, leaning across the bar. "In all my travels, this is certainly the most charming tavern I've had the good fortune to find myself in."

Fi smiled kindly, even she blushing slightly at the compliment, and shrugged humbly. "This place was every local superstar's favorite spot before they found their spot in the limelight. This place was a hotspot for poets during the Beat movement and musicians when the folk and acoustic scene started to really blow up. Maybe I'm a little biased, but The Sea is sort of the epitome of Greenwich Village culture. Cam and I bought it from an old man a few years ago who was struggling to keep the doors open. It was a pretty big risk, but we couldn't bear to see it go down."

"Your risk certainly seems to have paid off." H.G. observed, her eyes gazing around the room appreciatively.

Fi smiled and nodded, "Yeah, it's a lot of fun over here." She agreed, grinning. "It's a lot of work for Cam and I, but this is our home, you know?"

H.G. and Myka both nodded, smiling, and Fi let her gaze drop back to the woman. With a smirk, she brought herself back into reality and tapped the bar. "So what can I get you ladies to drink?" she asked happily, eyebrows raised.

"Just a coke?" Myka asked, looking at H.G.

"Water would be lovely," H.G. answered, her eyes meeting Myka's for just moment to say she understood.

"Ah, you're easy." Fi smiled, turning to get them their drinks.

Myka let her forearm rest on the bar and leaned against it, her gaze still aimed at H.G. Since she had been debronzed, H.G. had quietly found herself in love with baby blue, and had kept this love affair in mind as she filled her empty wardrobe. As brazen as she was, occasionally inappropriate, even, a Victorian modesty had been imprinted into her, and her clothes were never exceptionally revealing, at least not when she was following her own tastes – American filmmakers, on the other hand, was another story entirely – and he drawers at the B&B had been almost entirely filled with collared shirts, almost always a shade of blue, jeans, and blazers. In the years, as scattered and spontaneous as they were, Myka would have loved to say she had grown accustomed to the wardrobe, but even she, in all her stubbornness, couldn't deny the way the blues contrasted with H.G.'s pale skin and distractingly perfect brunette waves, her permanently dark eyes. As she stood beside Myka, her toned body casually leaning against the bar, Myka bit the corner of her lip.

Despite the obvious excitement the social opportunities of Univille and all its glamour offered them back at the Warehouse, Myka rarely spent an evening in town, and even when she did, she usually went alone. If anyone was with her, it was usually Pete, and she had grown accustomed to the way people put an effort into ignoring them, glaring if they paid her any attention at all. Now, with the help of Syd's comment, she was keenly aware of the way H.G. had left her collar unbuttoned just one set too low to be considered entirely conservative, and wasn't sure how to react. She had never been given the opportunity to perfect the glare aimed at a wandering lustful eye, and didn't like this feeling of inexperience.

"So, Fi," Myka said, shaking herself out of her own thoughts, "what's the story behind the typewriters and journals?"

Spinning back around to face them, glasses in hand, Fi glanced behind her to see what Myka referring was to.

"Ah," she smiled, her eyes glistening, "a few gems the past owners let us keep. He'd befriended a few of the people that populated the tavern during their careers and they had given him some keepsakes they didn't need anymore."

Fi turned and began to point out individual objects, naming them by their owners. Myka was left staring at her, her jaw agape as names like Jack Kerouac, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ray Bradbury, Allen Ginsberg, William Boroughs, Bob Dylan, and Jim Morrison filled her ears, and H.G. followed Fi's finger, her eyes intent, trying to keep up with names of people, many of whose lifetime had begun and ended before she ever woke up.

Fi turned back around, grinning at the dumbfounded Myka. "Wow," Myka offered, clearing her thoughts so that she could offer more than unintelligent noises. "Those, I mean, those are some of the greatest artistic minds of the 20th century. Those typewriters and journals produced some of the greatest ideas that century saw. Do you, do you even realize how much this stuff would be worth?"

Fi laughed and nodded, her gaze lowering for a moment. "Yeah, we've talked about it." she answered, "but, the way we see it, whoever would buy would be buying it to add to their collection, to be something to brag about. Here, they're embraced for what they are."

Myka smiled, her eyes shining, and Fi laughed.

"Does that make any sense?" she asked, the slight embarrassment reminding H.G. of their conversation about H.G. Wells the night prior.

"Yeah, it does." Myka assured her, nodding. If there was anything Myka loved as much as literature, it was people who loved literature. For a moment, Myka had to mentally remind herself that Fi still remained a suspect, that she was here as an undercover agent. As much as she adored Pete and Claudia, finding someone with a genuine appreciate of literature was rejuvenating.

"Nothing belonging to H.G. Wells, though, hm?" H.G. asked, smiling playfully and breaking Myka out of her thoughts.

Fi laughed lightly, her eyes sparking with an enthusiasm that shed at least a little light on H.G's reaction to their conversation last night, and bit her lip. "I wish!" she chuckled, shaking her head, "I'm afraid I'd just stare at it all night if we did, though."

"I never thought I'd meet someone that liked H.G. Wells as much as Helena," Myka laughed, nudging H.G. with a bony shoulder, "Cam and I will have to start a club or something."

Fi and H.G. both laughed, a challenge returning in H.G.'s gaze as she eyed Myka. "Ah, don't act as though you aren't a fan, yourself, Darling. You have as much of a soft spot for him as the rest of us."

Myka eyed H.G., choosing better than to dive into an indirect argument about their relationship while working. "So have all those people you named performed here, Fi?" Myka asked, tearing her eyes away from her partner after flashing her a glare.

"They have," Fi answered, eyeing H.G. with a shared victory and grinning. "Before our time, of course, but they were here. We've hosted some icons throughout the years."

Interrupting the conversation, a splitting thumping came from the stage, drawing Myka and H.G's attention. On the stage, Syd stood behind the microphone, tapping her way into everyone's view.

"Syd included." Fi added, leaning over the bar to reach the ears of Myka and H.G. "You might want to sit down for this one; the gangs over there." She finished, pointing down bar toward the cluster of neighbors, huddled together in obvious anticipation.

"Thanks," Myka mouthed, hand still tangled with H.G's as she dodged through the customers, making her way toward the neighbors.

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_**Thanks for reading! Please review if you get the chance. I'll do my best to post the next chapter before the end of the night. Have a very happy holidays everyone!**_

_**-G**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13. I also do not own any of Andrea Gibson's works, the spoken word artist whose poem, How It Ends, is referenced._**

**_A/N: Sorry for not getting this to you yesterday. Family came over a lot earlier than they said they would, so that plan was ruined. Anyways, here is your chapter, even if it is a little late. Merry Christmas everyone!_**

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**Chapter 14**

Myka greeted the group with a smile, sliding into the chair beside Jerry, H.G. next to her. "What's happening?" she asked, watching Syd adjust the microphone, grabbing the tavern's attention with a rushed story.

"You're in for a treat tonight, ladies." Jerry answered, smirking. "Syd is one of the best poets in New York."

"Is that so?" H.G. asked, eyeing the petit girl on the stage.

"We can almost never get her on stage, though." Jillian added. "It scares the hell out of her for some reason." Jillian sent a sideways glance toward Kelly, who was still on her stool, leaning against the bar, too intent on her girlfriend to pay the conversation any mind. "She only gets on stage when she and Kelly are having problems. She isn't exactly Mrs. Chivalry, but her poetry can make you forget all of missteps she's taken."

"It's just a matter of getting her to actually start the poems." Clara noted, eyeing Syd with a mother's worry.

"She has told this story the past three times she's performed here, right?" Kelly whispered, leaning toward them from her stool. Her voice was incredulous, but her expression betrayed her words, a warm appreciation and anticipation in her eyes.

All three neighbors nodded, an amused smirk on all their lips as Myka and H.G. watched Syd gesticulate her way through the beginning of what would prove to be a very long, edging on pointless story. The group listened politely for a few minutes before losing interest, starting by mouthing along with Syd, proving that they had heard the story so many times that they knew it verbatim, and eventually taking to simply whispering over her.

"So Helena," Kelly began, sliding off her stool and slipping in between Jillian and H.G.'s seats, "any poetry in the portfolio?"

H.G. chuckled lightly, shyly, almost, and shook her head. "No, no, I-,"

As soon as denial was hinted at, the neighbors shifted their gaze to Myka, who grinned, her eyes slowly shifting between them and H.G. She strained her memory for a master list of H.G. Wells' works, trying to find some poetry in the mix. Before she could remember anything, time ran out and she laughed, looking up at her audience. "She's never let me read anything, but I'm pretty sure I've seen her scribbling some interesting line breaks for someone who supposedly writes nothing but prose."

The neighbors grinned, all letting their approval out in a unanimous, hushed cheer, taking Myka's answer as a definite yes. H.G. eyed the group hesitantly before glaring at Myka, he eyes slightly more playful than they had been at the bar, and shaking her head.

"You're performing here, Helena. I don't care what you say. If I have to forge your handwriting and sign you up myself, I will." Kelly grinned, her feet shuffling happily as she gripped H.G.'s arm playfully.

"I really am not much of a poet," H.G. insisted, her expression doubtful.

"Nonsense!" Clara countered, her hand literally waving the comment away. "Everyone's a poet. It's just diction and arrogance that gives you the proper title."

Everyone laughed, Jerry going on to explain that Clara had been a poet herself, even having a couple of books published, giving her the right to poke fun at the stereotypes.

"We'll see, we'll see," H.G. sighed, shrugging, and triggering another hushed cheer of appraisal from her neighbors.

"Do you perform here, Clara?" Myka asked, leaning in to make eye contact with her.

Clara smiled and chuckled lightly. "Just once, and only because this lot simply _insisted_. I had my fun playing poet, but that is mostly a chapter of the past. These days, I'm rather content simply being a landlord, watching these fools have their fun in the spotlight."

Myka, H.G. and Jillian laughed, Kelly pretending to be offended at being called a fool and playfully swatting at Clara's arm. "You've all performed?" H.G asked, her eyes rounding the table.

"Oh God, no," Kelly answered, her face morphing. "We're not all writers. These days, it's just Syd who performs. Fi plays guitar and Cam sings, and occasionally they put something together, usually Blackbird, but only on special occasions. They have a kitchen to man and a bar to tend."

"Jenny performed a few times when she was living here." Jillian added, catching Myka's attention.

"Really?" she asked, hoping to sound casual as she studied the expressions of everyone around her, "was she a poet?"

Jillian nodded, her face masking that of her neighbors, all downcast eyes and scowling lips. It was clear that the sting of Jenny's death was still very present, but, outside of that, Myka didn't see anything particularly suspicious. "She was no Syd, but she wasn't bad. The stage always brought out a side of her we never saw."

"Like stage fright?" Myka asked, conscious of the way H.G. had wrapped her arm around the back of her chair.

"No, not really." Jillian answered, looking up to see Clara and Jerry both shaking their head in agreement. "It wasn't really how she acted so much as what she wrote about. She was such a sweetheart, you know, and she was always so happy, but her poetry didn't always match that."

"She did write that one poem, though." Clara added, "I think it was the second time she performed here. She only read it once, but it was fabulous."

Jillian nodded, apparently knowing exactly which poem she was talking about. "You're right, but do you have any idea who it was about? She was single the entire time she lived here, I never saw her with anyone, but there was no way that was a single girl's poem."

Clara nodded, agreeing. "It doesn't matter; she was allowed to shine light on her own secrets in her poetry. It's sort of what it's all about."

Jillian shrugged, nodding, and looked up at Myka.

"Kierra used to perform a lot too," Kelly added, looking up.

This time, Myka saw a red flag in every reaction, and quickly made eye contact with H.G. Jerry looked up suddenly, looking startled, and the happy light in Clara's eyes darkened for the first time since Myka had met her. She eyed Kelly with the closest thing to a glare Clara seemed capable of before cooling off and looking down. Kelly remained watching Myka and H.G., an apathetic expression on her face as she answered Myka's question. Jillian's jaw clenched, her eyes dulling so suddenly that they gave Myka chills.

"So this is a new one," Syd explained, her introduction interrupting the conversation and bringing their attention back to her, "It's called How It Ends."

Myka eyed Jillian for a moment more, waiting for someone to say something about this Kierra, before shifting her attention to Syd, making a mental note to try and bring it up again. Syd took a few steps back from the microphone, dropping her head, her eyes raised only for a moment to make eye contact with Kelly, before dropping and shutting. She stood like that for a few beats before stepping forward, her words beginning as soon as her body moved. The entire tavern hushed, her performance drawing them in, whether they were fans of poetry or not. For those who knew Syd, even as little as Myka and H.G. did, it was clear that their Syd was not on stage. As Syd spat her words into the microphone, all arrogance, all forgiven rudeness and slight suggestiveness disappeared and left a five foot tall personification of passion and vulnerability. Her gaze rarely met the crowd, instead locked on various points in the wall, occasionally shutting for a few lines, but when they did, they locked onto Kelly, her green eyes wide as she spoke. Her movements matched her words, if not acting out what she was explaining in the poem, at least matching the energy and emotionalism attached to the words. In all her years of bookstores and libraries, Myka's literary passion had been blind to the art of spoken word poetry, and she was left staring at her neighbor with her jaw literally dropped, entirely distracted by the performance.

In the high of the moment, Myka was sure that no greater proclamation of love had been written than this poem. It had all the passion that came with the performance, but the simplicity that was Syd's personality, the awkward humor and inappropriate bluntness. Trepid, even, the poem weaved in and out of stories of their relationship, shifting from heartwarming, funny, and uncomfortable, and then danced into descriptions of Kelly so simple and loving that they made Myka's breath literally catch. Symbolism that lacked pretentiousness, even outside of poetry's standards, had everyone green with a lack of oxygen, no one daring to take a breath. By the time Syd had finished, it took a solid three seconds before anyone could applaud her, the entire room too shocked to respond.

"Told you," Jillian grinned, smiling at a stunned H.G. and Myka, both still motionless as their jaws hung dumbly.

Eventually, both agents returned to reality, spinning slowly to face Kelly, who had an expression caught between embarrassed, humble, and proud. Kelly stuttered over an explanation, not sure how to react, before being cut off by Myka.

"You're a very lucky girl." Myka managed, her eyes darting between Kelly and Syd as the latter prepared for a second poem.

"Yeah," Kelly agreed, almost sheepishly, "when it comes down to it, I am."

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**_So I decided to use Andrea Gibson's How It Ends for a few reasons. 1. Andrea Gibson is my favorite poet. Ever. I can't even explain to you how incredible she is. If you don't know who she is, you better get your way over to youtube and start watching videos of her. 2. Even though poetry is my thing, even more so than prose like this fic, I had this weird need to keep it separate from my fic. I dont' know, I just didn't like the idea of mixing the two for some reason. Also, my very single self was having trouble writing the kind of love poem I was looking for. 3. It's so Syd it's not even funny. If you want to hear the poem that's referenced, here's a link: watch?v=G7vvxW2AUUs_**

**_-G_**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13**

**A/N: Thanks for all the support everyone! Also, for some obnxious self-advertising, I know that someone asked about my other writing. I have a writer's blog that you are welcome to check out if you're interested. The writing is almost entirely poetry, and the content is very rarely edited before posted. It's all pretty raw, but if you're interested in that side of me, feel free to check out .com. If you have an account there, feel free to say hello :)  
**

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**Chapter 15**

"There has to be a connection between them," Myka muttered, peering over the bed, her eyes darting over the papers they had scattered over the mattress.

H.G. looked up, eyeing Myka. She hadn't been counting, but she was sure that phrase had left Myka's lips over thirty times in the last hour, and the repetitiveness of it was not helping their cause.

They had left The Sea over an hour ago, led home – much to H.G.'s quiet but not so subtle disdain –by Jillian. Since then, the two agents had torn apart their manila folders, scattering their contents across the bed. For the first time since H.G's return, they had found themselves agreeing. Neither agent was suspicious of any particular neighbors, or any of the customers they encountered at The Sea, at least not in relation to the artifact. They both had noticed the reactions their neighbors had to the name Kierra, and agreed that she was something to investigate. Still, there was absolutely no argument in the silent, mutual decision that discovering the connection between their two victims was the agents' primary goal.

Myka leaned over and got a hold of the two x-rays, raising them up against the light. Their first victim was Jeremy Hunt, a 23 year old Caucasian male, who, as far as Myka knew, had absolutely no relation to the Backhart's apartment. According to the report, he was found dead in his apartment, fourteen city blocks away from theirs, four days after he died. The report noted that a coworker had mentioned that Jeremy had been complaining about back and shoulder pain for a few days before he died, but, outside of that, there was nothing out of the ordinary in his behavior.

The second victim was Jenifer Dupree, or, as their neighbors seemed to know her, Jenny. Like Jillian had said, she died in a car crash, a relatively common story, had it not been for the absolutely impossible injuries that had caused her death. Myka silently handed the x-rays to H.G., who took them obediently, and collected the crime scene photographs and report. Apparently, Jenny had lost control of the vehicle at approximately 11:00pm on a freeway, about forty minutes outside of the city. According to a witness, the car suddenly increased its speed, swerved slightly, then quickly began to drift, all happening to quickly for the cars to respond, thus causing five-car domino effect. While all five cars had serious bumper damage, there was nothing to explain the crushed shoulders. Myka dropped her arms and shifted to look over H.G.'s shoulder, studying Jenny's x-ray. It looked as though something had pushed her shoulders directly down, smashing the shoulder, the collar bone snapping, and breaking the ribs beneath them. Just like Jeremy Hunt, the bones had pierced the lungs and heart, the cause of both their deaths. Myka brogher her attention back to the photographs in her hands, trying desperately to find an explanation for the damages she saw in the x-ray, and agreeing with the medical examiner's noted suspicion. It was impossible.

H.G. raised the x-rays against the light, Myka looking up and joining her. Both women let their eyes dart back and forth, trying to find something remarkably different about the two, but found nothing. Obviously, different bodies react differently, and while the injuries were not absolutely identical, they were clearly caused by the same thing. The more time they spent shuffling through their information, the harder it got for them to find a reason to believe these were not artifact-related deaths, and the greater their need to find a connection between the two people became.

"There has to be a connection," Myka repeated, her free hand absentmindedly running through her hair, "something that would give the artifact the change to affect the both.

H.G sighed, her hands dropping to her side, nodding in an exhausted agreement. She let her eyes wonder across the mattress one last time, sending the papers more of a bitter scowl than a hopeful second glance. "The tavern is the only possible connection I can think of at the moment." She concluded, turning to face Myka.

Myka nodded, her eyes gazing far away, as they always did when she was thinking. "It makes sense, and there is a definite connection between it and Jenny, but we have no relationship between it and Jeremy."

"And we need to learn more about this Kierra woman," H.G. added, her mind drifting back to the name shook her neighbors. "She clearly isn't on friendly terms with anyone here, which makes her a suspect."

Myka sighed, nodding. "So I'll take Kierra and you take Jeremy?" she asked, meeting H.G's eyes.

H.G. smiled slightly and nodded. "Having a plan is a wonderful thing," she chuckled, bending to return the papers to their folder.

Myka chuckled, putting her own half of the papers away. "We may be taking shots in the dark, but we're taking shots."

H.G. smiled and raised her folder like a glass during a toast. "Cheers to that, Darling." She hummed, turning to grab her pile of blankets and pillow that had been stuffed in the corner of the bedroom. She dropped her folder on the dresser and sauntered out of the room.

"Sleep well," she waved, politely closing the bedroom door behind her.

Myka sighed, placing her own folder on top of H.G.'s, and watched the door shut. She listened to H.G.'s footsteps slow to a stop, too close to the bedroom to have reached the couch, then start again, quietly making her way to her couch.

It didn't take much imagination for Myka to slide into bed with the image of H.G. in her head, running her long fingers through her hair, eyes closed, allowing a beat of vulnerability in the comfort of solitude in their hall.

Switching the lights off, Myka willed her tense muscles to relax, the twin sized bed feeling very, very big.

_**Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated greatly. I'll do my best to update as soon as possible!**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: _I do not own Warehouse 13_**

**A/N_: Hi everyone! Sorry this update has taken me sooo long. Between midterms dominating my life for the past three weeks to the play I'v e been writing, which has effectively taken away what little sleep I had been getting a month ago, I've been a bit busy. Now that exams are over, I'm a bit less booked, but the play and usual work is still keeping me a little insane. For those of you wondering, the play I'm writing involved not only the writing, but interviewing, researching, letter-composing, etc. Then, I'm also directing four of the nine scenes, performing in one, possibly two of them, and responsible for casting. All this plus maintaining good grades in what has literally been voted as one of the most academically challenging high schools in the United States. If it wasn't for these reasons, I would be updating much more regularly, so please understand I mean it when I say I'm sorry. _**

**_(also I'm sorry for this scene...please forgive me)_**

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**_Chapter Sixteen_**

When Myka Bering casually intruded on her neighbor's day, she had not been entirely sure of how she expected to spend the next few hours. Conversation- investigation, that is - was the only definite in her plans; the rest was merely assumption, almost subconscious. She certainly didn't expect to leave the apartment building, the lacking pocket money in both woman's possession eliminating the possibility of going out for lunch, save The Sea, that is. Maybe it was only now, when something so far from this was the reality, but she would have liked to say her expectations had involved coffee or tea, whatever it is Jillian drank. Certainly, the most extreme of Myka's expectations involved red wine. This, however, was most definitely not part of her plans.

Myka had lost the discomfort and uncertainty associated with her grip around Jillian's waist nearly five minutes ago. By this point, Myka's entire arms had encircled the blonde's leather-clad torso, her face angled into her neck so that her helmet wouldn't bang against Jillian's head. She was sure that she looked absolutely pitiful in this position, but, with her barely open eyes pressed against Jillian's body, she doubted they were going slow enough for anyone to get a proper glance at her. She may not have learned anything relevant to the case since she knocked on Jillian's door that morning, but she could say with absolute certainty that New Yorkers' driving reputation was not limited to cars. It most definitely included motorcycles, or whatever the hell it was she was currently straddling.

Myka felt the bike start to slow and lifted her head slightly. Twice now she had been fooled into thinking they were finally at their destination, only to find them in a momentary traffic jam. Illegal as it was, Jillian's solution to that was always to drive in between the cars, nearly getting them hit by a taxi once. She stopped lifting a hand off the bike to flip an angry cabdriver off after Myka hit her so hard they nearly crashed, an action less adorable then the guaranteed shrieks that had resulted before it.

This time, thank god, they were actually stopping, and Myka willed her heartbeat to slow down as Jillian maneuvered the bike into their spot, only releasing her grip on her when the bike came to a proper stop. Then, Myka sat back, letting her hands drop to her lap and exhaled sharply. Myka unclipped the helmet and removed it from her head, stepping off the bike with as much dignity as she could muster and handing it to a grinning Jillian.

"You're something else," Jillian laughed, squinting up at the brunette for a beat before taking the helmet lifting off the bike.

"You're insane." Myka stated, her voice low and just slightly unsteady.

Jillian grinned, hanging the helmet off the handle of the bike and lifting it onto the sidewalk. "Be right back," she grinned, running the bike into the entrance of the parking garage next to them and turning into the booth. Myka watched her stop in front of it, say something to whoever was inside, grin, and lift the bike inside. Jillian was back by her side a minute later, explaining she had a friend in the booth and going on to say that light, small bikes are always the best way to go for any city dweller.

Myka had to mentally keep her knees from shaking for another five minutes.

It took an additional three minutes minutes for Myka to entirely dispose of her plan to not look like _such_ a tourist. Gazing up at the buildings around her, she grinned like a child, loving that she couldn't even see the top of most of them. Truthfully, she was a nature girl. She loved the mountains, loved lakes. She was never particularly fond of cities in comparison, especially not if she had to live there. She didn't like the clear separation of classes, didn't like being surrounded by people whose failed dreams led them to street life. She didn't like that way the city never rested. From a protector's point of view, especially one as meticulous as Myka, it meant constant danger. There was a constant possibility of something going terribly wrong. There had been a time when Myka had grown into the mold, had become robotic in her unfamiliarity with rest and personal peace, especially in the gap between Sam's death and her recruitment to the Warehouse. Now, and even then, truthfully, the city was edging on too much, and the agent in her knew to keep away from unnecessary dangers to the best of her ability. The city was a place to avoid as much as necessary. She was certainly rational enough to know this.

…Still, those buildings are so _cool_.

"I still can't believe you've never been to New York" Jillian said, lowering Myka's gaze a few dozen stories.

Myka shrugged, ducking toward her blonde companion as a man casually shoved his way through the crowd of pedestrians, sharing in the common New Yorker belief that locals have some sort of magical capability of literally walking through tourists. "I'm from Colorado Springs. New York was a bit of a trip for my family, especially when you own a small business."

Jillian squinted at her, smirking a little as they walked. Myka sent her a sideways glance and chuckled. "Alright," she smiled, "where are you from?" she asked, shoving Jillian's arm slightly.

Jillian chuckled. "Connecticut." She answered, shrugging.

"See," Myka laughed, this time navigating quite cleanly around an intruding New Yorker, "it'd be crazy for _you_ to have never been to the city when it's –what?- and hour and a half away? I, on the other hand, was a solid _day_ and a half away. I can tell you all about Boulder, Colorado, or Denver."

Jillian laughed, nodding in surrender. "Well, I'm glad you met me, because you have a solid decade's worth of catch up to do, Colorado. I don't care where you're from; You have to make it to New York at least once in your life."

Myka laughed. Remembering the glare in H.G.'s eyes every time Jillian was brought up, particularly the not-so subtle jealousy that she somehow managed to perfect the evening prior when Jillian came to pick them up, Myka decided not to make a comment about her being happy to have met Jillian as well. Part of her didn't want to care about what H.G. thought, but the other part knew she had a part to play, one that was annoyingly intertwined with the British agent.

"Is that why you moved here? Myka asked, glad she had a question ready, "Love for the city instilled in a young age? Desperate hatred for Connecticut suburbia?"

Jillian laughed, lightly grabbing Myka's elbow to lead her to their right turn, releasing it as soon as Myka understood. "Both are true," she laughed, "But, uh, I left because I needed to get some distance between my family and I."

The smile on Myka's lips disappeared and she turned so that she could make eye contact with Jillian and keep an eye on where she was going. Jillian looked a little like she didn't want to say anymore, but Myka had a pair of eyes that could make anyone do anything she wanted them to and the encouraging sympathy had Jillian explaining further.

"My folks and I never really got on too well. We were just really different people, the three of us. They were the perfect suburban parents, you know. Mom was on the PTA, Dad coached my soccer team. Dad likes barbeques and football and Mom liked reading James Patterson books and cooking lemon chicken for dinner. They're good people, I guess, but I think they absorbed all the domestication in me because I had none and they had a ridiculous amount."

Jillian shrugged and took Myka down another turn, then continued.

"We got on like most teenagers and their parents do; roughly, but alright overall. I wanted to live nomadically, hit the city when I got a bit older, pursue my passions, wear leather jackets. They thought I'd be a swell nurse or teacher or something. We just never fit together, which made things pretty tense pretty consistently."

Jillian quieted for a moment before continuing. "It wasn't until I brought home a girlfriend when it really blew up. They, uh, they didn't like that."

"I'm sorry," Myka offered. She thought about her own parents. She and her father weren't exactly a perfect match when she was growing up. It took an artifact nearly killing him for them to reach a common ground, one that wasn't a battlefield. Still, she wondered just how durable that bond between them was. If she were to bring home something like a girlfriend, would they still call their home her home?

Jillian shrugged. "You know, by then it was more of a last string snapping sort of thing than something that really bothered me. By that point, I just didn't need to impress them anymore. So we basically just said screw it and packed out bags. We lived in a hotel for a couple nights before we found the Backhart's place and we bought the apartment immediately. And, uh, you know, here I am."

"We?" Myka asked, trying to sound as casual as she could.

Jillian exhaled, her expression changing for a beat before she responded. "Yeah. I had a girlfriend for a while."

Again, Jillian grabbed a hold of Myka's arm and took her down another turn. "Almost there, I promise."

Myka watched the blonde for a few moments before accepting a temporary defeat. "Where are you taking me?" she finally asked, eyeing her neighbor with mock suspicion.

Jillian's face morphed back into the familiar enthusiasm. "We," she began, smiling brightly, "are crossing number one off your list of New York must-sees, Colorado. One of my favorite places in the city."

Myka eyed the blonde and bit the corner of her lip. "I'm not entirely sure if I trust you, Miss Motorcycle."

Jillian grinned. "Trust me, you'll love it.

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_**Thanks for reading! As always, I love to hear what you think. If I get my way, I'll actually have the next one up within the next few days (reviews will help that happen *cough *cough). Also, I hope my A/N above didn't sound too much like a list of an excuses. I just wanted to be clear that I'm not being lazy and uncaring. I do whole heartedly appreciate all the support you have given me and what you to know that, even if I don't update as often as you deserve.**_

_**Thanks everyone,**_

_**-G**_


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